A Thousand Miles
by Buttered Angie
Summary: (Medieval Trory) AU: With Marcus plotting to steal his crown, Tristan needs all the help he can get. But are the thieves willing to trust him? Suddenly Rory must make a difficult choice, and Jess' life hangs in the balance...
1. The Way We Were

_12.04.05: _Remember me? ;p Well it's holidays now so I have time to write (yay!), but it has been so long since I looked at _A Thousand Miles_ that I need something to jog my memory. That's why I'm reformatting and editing all my previous chapters before writing chapter fifteen. That way, I'll remember where I was at. :o)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the title – it's from the Vanessa Carlton song. I don't own the main characters although I introduce quite a few new ones. The ones that you don't recognise are the ones that I own ;o)

**Author's Note: **Okay, basically this is a trory, medieval style. It's an AU okay! Uh, there's something I want to make note of… since its medieval it'll kind of be old-England style, but some of the words might have an American or Australian edge. I also know next to nothing about the medieval period, so I'm going to do my best to make up most of the historical stuff. If I get something glaringly wrong I am so sorry!

This fic may get kind of confusing in earlier or later chapters so if it does please tell me in your review and I'll try to answer any questions as best as I can. I hope you enjoy it!

Angie

PS: I've tried to keep most of the character names the same, though the character personalities may be different. Keep the AU part in mind when you read this, otherwise it probably won't make any sense.

**A Thousand Miles**

_The Way We Were_

"Are you going to die?"

A young chocolate-brown haired girl looked up at her mother with big, watery blue eyes. Her cheeks were tearstained and her hands streaked with blood. Her dress was a filthy mess and her shoes were ripped and torn, and practically non-existent. Her right elbow was roughly bandaged in an old, worn out tablecloth with a flower print, and blood was slowly seeping through the hand sewn, flowery pattern. Her mother bent down and slowly kissed the child's hands.

"I love you, Rory," she whispered, embracing her child, the shackles around her wrists clattering loudly.

"I love you too, mummy," the little girl cried.

"You two, enough!"

A guard wearing a chain mail tunic, helmet and broadsword used his large, strong hands to pry the two apart.

"Mummy!" The little girl screamed, tears cascading down her cheeks. She reached her small hand out towards her mother desperately, but another guard grabbed her around the waist and pulled her out of arms reach.

"Rory! Rory!" her mother shrieked, banging her fists against the first guard, who tugged ruthlessly on her shackles, causing her to fall to her knees. Grappling at the ground hopelessly she yelled, "You bastards! You promised you wouldn't hurt her! Damn you! Rory! Rory!" Blood dripped down from her mouth onto the ground in front of her but she payed no attention to it. "Rory!"

The woman beat her fists harshly against the half-dozen guards that were dragging her over to the centre of the stadium. The crowed cheered and carried on, as Lorelai Gilmore was led to the guillotine. Restrained by the guards, young Rory could only watch. She didn't fully understand the enormity of the situation, but she knew that something life-changing was about to happen.

Lorelai Gilmore looked back at her daughter. With the last ounce of courage that she could muster from the deepest depths of her soul, she held her head up high while they led her to the guillotine. She wanted her daughter to remember her like this; strong and proud, someone who stood up for their morals and beliefs and who did not give in to the supreme unfair power of the monarchy, someone who controlled her own destiny. And what a destiny it turned out to be.

As Lorelai approached the executioner she looked him straight in the eye. He was a little startled at this, the courage of this woman whose life he was about to take away. As her head was lowered, she fixed her gaze firmly on the people who were about to kill her. The last expression the clear blue eyes that the executioner saw before he pulled the trigger was stubborn determination. Suddenly, in that moment, he built up more respect for this woman than he had for his own mother. Then he killed her.

* * *

Young Tristan turned away in disgust. He hated watching executions. They were graphic and a waste of time. Those peasants didn't deserve their deaths witnessed by royalty. Public deaths should be saved only for those who commit the worst crime: treason against the Royal Monarchy, of course.

"Mother, must we watch such thing?"

His mother looked down at him from her elevated seat and shook her head ever so slightly, giving him a warning look. Tristan muttered to himself angrily and looked down at the chaotic crowd below. A lady had just been executed and the crowd had gone wild. Tristan wrinkled his nose; these people reminded him of pigs. Some distance behind the lady that had just been killed was a young girl who looked around the same age as him. She was a peasant girl, and she was sobbing fanatically, struggling to free herself from the guards that held her. Even from his distance Tristan could see the girl's striking blue eyes and noticed that she had quite a pretty face.

"Who is that girl?" he asked his mother offhandedly, slightly interested.

"Lorelai Gilmore's daughter."

"Gilmore..? Aren't they supposed to be nobles?" Tristan's brow furrowed, trying to remember the kingdom's complicated government system.

"Of course they're nobles." His mother sniffed rather obnoxiously.

"Then… why is she dressed in rags?"

"That is not a matter for you to have knowledge of."

"Why not?"

"Because you aren't old enough."

"How can I be not old enough?"

His mother turned to face him, exasperated.

"Listen, there are some things you must learn. Being part of this monarchy is like riding in a small wooden boat on a very large and dangerous ocean. You could get knocked down with any wave that comes your way, unless you're strong and practical, and do what is required of you. Understand?"

Tristan nodded.

"Lorelai Gilmore fell off her boat." His mother said, talking more to herself than her son. "And she dragged her poor daughter down with her."

Tristan glanced up at his mother, than quickly out to the guillotine where Lorelai's blood still dripped, then let his gaze rested on the young sobbing girl. He closed his eyes and turned around so he wouldn't have to see anymore. He didn't understand it. What could Lorelai Gilmore have done to condemn herself to such a horrible death, and to her daughter, such a horrible life?

* * *

_Three Years Later…_

The fire crackled comfortingly and Rory came up closer to it, trying to get warm. Now ten years of age, she was starting to take on more of an appearance of her mother, by both her looks and personality.

"Don't go to close to the fire, Rory dear."

Rory turned around and smiled at the large, good-natured faced woman who had a beaming smile, delightful hazel brown eyes and charming dimples.

"All right Sookie," Rory said, and obediently moved a couple of steps backwards. "It's just so cold."

"Your mother's got the best luck of all, that's what I think. Knowing her, she's up there looking down on us, probably with a cob of corn and a cup of tea, enjoying the show." Sookie looked up to the heavens and tutted sternly. "While we're here doing all the work! That is so like your mother!" She shook a chubby fist at the skies, and then grinned, sitting down in a large, wooden rocking chair.

"Tell me about my mother," Rory said, knowing that Sookie and Lorelai used to be the best of friends when Lorelai was still alive.

"Well, your mother was the cleverest person I ever knew. She and I were actually going to start up an inn together. I was to be the cook and she would manage all the money." Sookie smiled dreamily, the memories flooding back to her. "Lorelai came up with the most amazing ideas. Ridiculous, impossible, crazy ideas, but amazing ones none the less. She was a dreamer, but also a realist."

"How did you meet her?" Rory asked, intrigued.

"Lorelai was going to get betrothed, against her will. See, she was already in love with someone else – your father – and they married in secret and she got pregnant with you. But when Emily, that's your grandmother, found out about her pre-arranged marriage, Lorelai could come up with no other situation but to run away. She didn't want to embarrass her groom to be, but she wasn't going to stand around and be married against her will, so she ended it on her terms."

"Where did you find all this out?" Rory said softly, her eyes twinkling brightly.

"I was one of the cooks arranging the wedding. I saw her trying to run away, and I followed. Later on she confessed the whole story to me and I offered a home for her here if she ever needed one. That offer is also extended to you, my dearest."

Rory smiled. "Thankyou Sookie, I shall always remember that. My mother sounds very brave."

Sookie let out a loud, fruity laugh. "Brave? Yes, she was brave! She was magnificent! Determined, stubborn and moral: everything that a well-rounded person should be. She'd willingly plunge through fire, fly, or even walk a thousand miles with broken legs if she saw the need for it."

"When I grow up I want to be exactly like her! I will be like her," Rory promised herself.

"But sweetheart," Sookie said fondly. "You already are like her."

"Oh Sookie, that's the nicest thing anyone could ever say to me." Rory said, her eyes filling with tears, and she suddenly embraced the large, friendly lady in a huge hug. When the two parted they laughed, like old friends. Rory was already way beyond her years mentally, and Sookie thought of her more as friend than a child.

"Sookie! Rory! Where are you?" a male voice cried out.

"Jackson?"

"There you are!" Jackson panted, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He leaned over to give Sookie a kiss and affectionately patted Rory's head. He and Sookie were married. "I ran all the way from work to find you!"

"Well, we're right here. What ever is the matter?"

"The king!" Jackson said breathlessly. "The king has just died."

Thankyou to an anonymous reviewer for letting me know that there were no guillotines in the middle ages until the French revolution! Um… creative licence? Jks!


	2. Long Live the King

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all your great reviews! Keep them coming! I tried to make this chapter a little bit longer, hope you enjoy it! And remember, any questions or anything, all you gotta do is ask! 

Buttered Angie

**A Thousand Miles**

_Long Live the King_  


"The king is dead. Long live the king."  


The entire court at arms bowed their heads, and there was silence. Tristan looked to his mother for comfort, but saw that her face was fixed into a firm grimace, and knew not to bother her. Tears were silently flowing down his cheeks and he wiped them away quickly, embarrassed.  


Tristan approached his father's dead body, quietly. Nobody moved to stop the new king. He saw his father's eyes closed, his father's skin waxen and pale, and his hair still dark with the colour of youth. For the first time in his entire life, Tristan saw his father without a crown on his head, and was surprised to find that without the dominating, excruciatingly heavy ornament, his father just looked like everyone else. Tristan wondered if the crown was the only thing that separated royalty from peasants, but knew that he was to find out soon enough. For Tristan was to be the new king. This realisation hadn't fully sunk in until that exact moment and Tristan suddenly felt his knees become weak. His strength then faulted and he fell to the floor weeping, not as much because he was saddened by his father's death, but rather because he was fearful of the prospect of becoming the next king. None of the guards moved to comfort the skinny, blonde-haired boy who was sobbing despairingly on the ground, the boy who was going to become the next king.  


* * * * *  


Rory walked in between Sookie and Jackson, holding both of their hands and observing the interesting chaos that surrounded them. They were walking down a huge, outdoor aisle, which on each side was packed with different stalls that sold every kind of thing imaginable. Fruits, vegetables, cakes, ice creams, candy, chocolate, hats, bags, baskets, animals, birds, bird cages, silks, shoes, pots and pans (Sookie was most interested in those), potions, fireworks, books, candles, lamps, and musical instruments. Rory even saw a stall that was selling blue and pink striped stockings.  


"It looks more like a birthday party then a funeral procession" Rory complained to Sookie, only to find that she had disappeared off to a nearby stall to inspect a huge soup tureen.  


"She's going to be there awhile." Jackson smiled down at Rory, squeezing her hand. Rory smiled back and rolled her eyes. Jackson sighed. They all knew Sookie.  


Rory looked around at all the people laughing and smiling, in their colourful clothing munching on cakes and candies. "Why is everyone happy?" she asked. "I thought the king just died. Shouldn't they be sad? Or are they all happy that he died? Was he a bad king?"  


Jackson attempted to explain things to the wide-eyed, innocent child. "Rory, the people are happy because they're remembering all the good times the king had in his life. People tend to dwell on the happy things rather than the sad. They look at his accomplishments, not his defeats." Rory nodded, and, as an afterthought, Jackson added. "He wasn't a bad king."  


Rory and Jackson were silent for a moment, and then Sookie trundled up to them, lugging a whole cart of copper pots, in assorted sizes and shapes. She was beaming, and Jackson swallowed tightly, wondering how many extra days he would have to work to make up the money his wife had spent.  


"Look what I bought!" Sookie squealed, as excited as a child, and she promptly began showing Rory and Jackson each and every pot, naming its qualities, its failings, and, what Jackson dreaded most, it's price.  


"Twenty silvers! Bargain!" Sookie would cry with joy, and Jackson's face would drain of colour. Sookie was halfway through showing Rory and Jackson the contents of the cart when a large horn sounded, followed by a trio of trumpets, playing the king's melody. The crowd in the streets separated, Sookie frantically lugging her cart along with her. Rory watched with interest.  


"The king's procession," Jackson whispered to her.  


First there was nothing but the sound of the trumpets. Then came the soldiers. They were in ten groups of seventy two, twelve rows and six abreast for every group, each soldier's armour glinting smartly in the sunlight. They kept their perfect formation for the duration of the entire procession. The crowd watched in silence, at awe with this show of power and organisation. Then came the cavalry. Knights rode strong and proud on their horses, and their squires followed behind, viewing the crowd over their upturned noses. Rory blinked, surprised at the strength of the king's armed forces. And this was only a small portion of the armed forces of the entire monarchy. Rory edged closer to Sookie.  


Then came the carriages of the families' who were part of the royal monarchy. Each carriage was decorated with ribbons and decorative ornamentation, and each carriage bore a family's crest. Rory looked with interest especially on the Gilmore crest; a sword crossing over a book on a background of royal blue. Inside the carriage Rory could see a sophisticated looking lady and an educated, formal gentleman, both quite aged. They were dressed in ceremonial garments and fitted in seamlessly with the royal atmosphere. Rory supposed that they were her grandparents, and she wondered briefly if they even knew of her existence.  


After the carriages had moved out of view, there was only one thing left to see- the king's coffin, carried by members of the royal family. There was silence as the coffin approached. Rory's eyes opened wide when she saw it, and a gasp ran through the crowd. The coffin was made out of pure gold, encased with sapphire gemstones. It was lined with red velvet and the Royal Crest was engraved with great skill and accuracy on all sides of the coffin. The lid was open so Rory could not see the design on the front, but she was sure that it must be grand. 

Inside the coffin itself lay the king, his hair softly framing his face, his skin pale, and his hands folded across his chest, completely lifeless. Carrying the coffin was the king's own personal adviser, the chief at arms, the head knight and his squire, and the king's younger brother, Marcus. The Queen was at the left of the coffin, dabbing her eyes slightly with a silk handkerchief, but Rory noticed that her eyes bore no tears. It wasn't any of these people that drew most of Rory's attention though. It was rather the person standing on the king's right that she watched the closest - the king's son, the next in line to the throne. Rory saw that he was a boy no older than she was, with messy blonde hair and a pained expression on his face. His intriguing, stormy grey eyes were filled with sadness and loss. Rory felt her heart soften towards the boy, and it seemed to her for just a second he shifted his gaze so that it fell on her, but she couldn't be sure. Then he was gone. The crowed stood silent for a moment, the echo of the trumpets playing the king's tune still resounding in their ears. Then they slowly began filtering back into the stalls, and soon the crowd was loud, busy and chaotic once more.  


* * * * *  


Tristan threw off his expensive ceremonial cape and sighed, falling back onto his bed. Now that he was in the silence of his own bedroom, away from the disgusting crowds of people, the suffocating relatives, and most of all his father, in the ominous, large golden coffin, he could finally think.

He had nothing to think about. All of the thoughts that had been running through his mind mere seconds ago were now non-existent. Tristan blinked, staring up at the hand-carved ceiling. There was a knock at the door.  


"Come in," Tristan called, slightly annoyed. It was his mother. She floated rather than walked into his room, her head held high despite the heaviness of the crown she wore. Placing herself on a petite stool beside his bed, she waited for his attention. He refused to look at her. Out of all the people, the peasants, the crowds, and even the nobles, it was his mother that frustrated him the most. She acted like nothing had happened. Like it didn't hurt her at all that her husband had just died. And what made him even angrier with her was that it seemed like she didn't care about him and how he was dealing with the death of his own father.

"Tristan," she said to him, her voice sharp, crisp and formal as always.  


"Yes, _mother dearest_," he said sarcastically.  


The Queen pursed her lips, leaned over and struck Tristan's cheek with a flick of her wrist.  


"I shall have none of that!" she barked.  


Tristan remained silent and glowered at the ceiling.  


"Now, in a few days you shall have your crowning ceremony. You shall become king," she said.  


"Oh, like I didn't know that already," he rolled his eyes.  


"Tristan" she said in a warning tone.  


Tristan gazed at her sullenly. "What?" he asked her.  


"I want you to hand over the crown to your uncle, Marcus."

"What!" Tristan yelled, sitting up. "No!"  


"Listen Tristan," his mother said calmly, but he cut her off.  


"No, I wont!" he shouted.  


"Tristan, really, keep your voice down." His mother whispered harshly. "You wouldn't want any of the guards to hear, would you?"  


"I couldn't care less! I'm not ashamed with anything I'm saying, are you?" he retorted.

"Now, Tristan, be reasonable,"  


"I don't have to be! I'm the king, or I'm going to be anyway, and nobody is going to stop me." Tristan crossed his arms and glared at his mother. "Not even you. Now leave!"  


"Tristan!" his mother scolded.  


"I said leave!" Tristan bellowed into his mother's face. She stared at him for a moment with a shocked expression on her face, then her gaze turned poisonous and she swept up her dress and walked quickly out the room, slamming the door behind her.  


Tristan lay back on his bed, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, his body shaking. Now he'd really gotten himself into it. He had a chance to get out of being king, but he didn't take it. Why? Perhaps it was because he had never trusted his uncle. Perhaps he just wanted to disobey his mother. Perhaps he had been even temporarily insane. He just had a hunch that it was the right thing to do at the time, even if he didn't feel that way now. Covering his eyes with his hands he rolled over onto his tummy and tried to shut out the world, gradually falling into a deep, uncomfortable sleep. 

His last thought before he drifted off was _long live the king_


	3. Changes

Title: A Thousand Miles  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter: Three [changes]  
  
  
  
  
  
A/n: sorry this one took so long I'll get the next chapter up really quickly to make up for it. R/r please and thanks for all the reviews! -ButteR  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-----------------------------------[A Thousand Miles:changes]--------------- ----------------------  
  
  
  
  
  
-----------------------------------------------three years later------------ --------------------------------  
  
  
  
Marcus looked up sharply from the book he was reading as the Queen strode swiftly into his study, slamming the door as she went. He had never seen her this angry before, and was slightly surprised, but held back any comment.  
  
"Oh, put that book down and stop gawking at me!" the Queen snapped, snatching the book out of his hands and throwing it onto the floor. "We haven't got time for all your needless procrastination!"  
  
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Marcus drawled softly, and bowed his head slightly.  
  
"Marcus! This is serious!"  
  
"What?" Marcus said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Tristan still refuses to give you the crown! It's been three years. You'd think he'd have some sense in him already."  
  
Marcus chuckled softly to himself and leaned back in his chair, relaxed. "No need to worry, I've been thinking this over." Marcus explained quietly. "It could actually work to out advantage."  
  
"How?" the Queen demanded icily, not liking being made a fool of.  
  
"There's going to be much controversy if the nobles see your son giving the crown to me. The usual rumours, you know, bribery, torture, treason and so on."  
  
"They can't prove it!" The queen yelled. "They can't prove anything!"  
  
"Goodness, lady, keep your voice down!" Marcus cautioned, his devious, black beetle eyes flicking from side to side suspiciously. "Of course they can't prove anything, but still, the rumours will tarnish my reputation, and most probably yours too. Do you think the people will follow a king who is rumoured to have manipulated the king's successor?"  
  
The Queen was silent.  
  
"Don't you see?" Marcus' voice dropped to a barely inaudible hiss. "It would be much easier if I took on the place of the king's royal advisor. We could control the empire through Tristan's crown. If anything goes wrong he'll take the blame. If anything goes right I'll take the credit."  
  
"There is a fault in your plan." The Queen pointed out primly. "Tristan chose Carson to be his advisor. The position has been taken."  
  
"Carson? He can be dealt with. A couple of drops of tonic in his soup at dinner and he'll pass away quietly." Marcus took out a small bottle with an inky black liquid in it that shone green when light fell upon it. "The old windbag's due to die sometime soon anyway." He said, holding the small bottle up so that the Queen could see.  
  
The Queen smirked. "I like your style, Marcus. No fuss, no nonsense, no mess."  
  
"That is the only way, your majesty." Marcus replied, his lip curling up slightly.  
  
The Queen gave a quick smile to Marcus and turned around, walking out of his study. When she reached the door she turned around.  
  
"It was quick, wasn't it? I mean, for my husband.."  
  
"Yes, it was quick." Marcus said softly, a triumphant note in his voice. "Very quick. I made sure of that."  
  
"Good." The Queen said shortly, and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her, only to come face to face with Tristan.  
  
"What were you doing in Marcus' study, mother?"  
  
A now thirteen-year-old Tristan faced his mother determinedly, a scowl fixed firmly on his face. He was leaning slightly against a nearby pillar almost casually, the golden, heavy crown fixed firmly on his head. He had shot up in the last couple of years, and now was almost at the height of his mother, who was considered a giantess amongst women, for more reasons than one. His blonde hair fell in front of his stormy grey eyes, messy as usual, and his mind was almost as sharp as his tongue.  
  
"It is none of your concern." The Queen tried to wave her son of with her hand.  
  
"I'll make it my concern." He said harshly. "Now tell me!"  
  
The Queen stared at her son frostily, but remained silent.  
  
"You're not having a love affair again, are you?" Tristan asked spitefully.  
  
"Don't be silly." His mother said. "Of course I'm not."  
  
The Queen felt a blush rise to her cheeks, which was quite unusual since the Queen's complexion was snow-white and her skin hardly showed any colour at all. Tristan, who knew his mother extraordinarily well by now, noticed that.  
  
"You're lying." He noted, and brushed right past his mother into his uncle's study.  
  
  
  
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Marcus had only glanced back down at his book when his door was shoved open. Looking up, slightly surprised and more than a little annoyed, he saw the king stride across the wood flooring of his study, angry red blotches on his cheeks.  
  
"Don't touch my mother." Tristan intoned warningly. "Do not lay one hand on her."  
  
Marcus' mind was racing but he kept a cool front. Raising one eyebrow, he forced his face into an inquisitive sort of look.  
  
"What exactly do you mean?" Marcus asked, more than a little cautious.  
  
"You know exactly what I mean."  
  
"Humour me."  
  
"You're having a love affair with her! I wont permit it! I wont!" Tristan yelled, bringing his hand down in a fist on Marcus' table in rage.  
  
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Marcus snarled back, so viciously that Tristan recoiled. "You get out of here right now! After all I've done for you! After all I've tried to help you, to advise you! Of all the strain I've had trying to teach you how to be a King, to support your mother! My wife is back home a thousand miles away with my three children waiting for me to come home, but I'm staying here for you! And you accuse me of having an affair with your mother! How dare you!"  
  
Tristan mouthed soundlessly, incredible guilt settling in his stomach. He didn't know what to say. He looked at his uncle now in a different light. He hadn't even thought about his uncle's family. Tristan hung his head in shame, and, not being able to bear it any longer, silently departed.  
  
Marcus wiped the sweat off his forehead, panting a little with the effort of pulling of that little drama show for the king. Resting back in his chair once more, he realised that the situation with his wife and children would, in fact, had to be sorted out, since his intent was to stay at the palace permanently. He made a small note in his head to see if his wife's village could perhaps come down with a disastrous plague..  
  
  
  
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Rory sighed, looking wistfully at the parchment and charcoal that lay on the small, wooden cart. Flicking her long brown hair back behind her shoulders she looked up at the fat, stingy merchant who was eying her beadily.  
  
"How much..?" she asked again, for the fifth time.  
  
"Twenty silvers." The merchant replied stubbornly, crossing his arms. Rory looked down despairingly at her leather coin pouch, the three silvers glinting tellingly in the sunlight. Crestfallen, Rory turned around and walked away from the cart, thinking of all the ideas for stories in her head that would have to go unwritten. She was so preoccupied in her thoughts that she barely noticed a faint brush against her hand that held her leather pouch and a sharp tug on the pouch's throng. Spinning around she caught a glimpse of the back of her thief. He was a dark brown-haired villain who was quite skinny and quick on his feet. Looking despairingly and the thief for a moment she cursed her bad luck, and slowly started to walk away, but then spun on her heel and ran after the thief. She wasn't going to let him get away with all her money! She'll show him a thing or two about proper manners and earning honest money for a living! She determinedly ran after the thief. He was good, very good, but Rory was better. Twisting and turning, occasionally only catching a glimpse of his foot or a stray hand, she followed him through the streets of the market, never backing down, always pushing herself on. It wasn't just her leather pouch that she was running after; it was also the dignity of any peasant that had ever been robbed! As Rory turned a particularly sharp corner she saw the thief stumble through a pile of broken straw baskets, to finally fall upon a heap of apples. Panting, she ran up to confront the criminal.  
  
"Give me back my pouch!" she demanded. The thief held his hands up in defeat and threw her the leather pouch. Rory caught it just in time, and then realised how light it was. She peeked inside only to find that her three silvers were gone.  
  
"Where are my coins?" she yelled at the thief as he quickly got to his feet, grinning mischievously.  
  
"You asked for your pouch," he said in as-a-matter-of-factly voice. "You never said anything about your money."  
  
"You know what I meant!" Rory fumed. "Now, can I please have my coins back?"  
  
"Well, the pouch is easy enough to give away, but the coins, now that is another matter. We might have to do a little trade here. Something for something." The boy seemed very business-like, like he had done this sort of thing before.  
  
"What kind of trade..?" Rory asked, cautious but curious too.  
  
"I give you you're coins, if you give me your services."  
  
"I will do no such thing!" Rory said, disgusted, and slapped the boy in the face. "How dare you suggest something like that? I mean, you'd think you'd have a little digni.what's so funny?"  
  
The thief was chuckling, laughing even, trying desperately to hold it in but not succeeding. "I didn't mean those kinds of services," he said, almost apologetically. "I meant services in being a thief. I saw you running back there, and though I hate to admit it, you were pretty good. Natural talent like that can get you far in the world of thieves."  
  
"Um.thanks for the compliment but I'm not sure that I want to enter the world of eternal crime and dishonesty. It's not my kind of thing." Rory said, a little taken aback.  
  
"But it pays good money, and with talent like yours, you could go all the way. You'd really be missing out if you pass the opportunity up."  
  
"Well..uh.." Rory mumbled, not sure what to say. A loud shout came from behind her. The boy looked over her shoulder and winced.  
  
'Gotta run." He said and dashed off. "Just think about it." And then he was gone, leaving Rory to walk by herself back to the markets. She was halfway there when she realised that she never got the chance to take back her coins. Sighing she wondered what she would tell Sookie when she got home.  
  
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Jackson walked into his house, a heavy, lead feeling in his stomach. Sookie rushed out from the kitchen to greet him. She gave him a sweet kiss and smiled at him, beaming. Jackson tried to smile back, but somehow his face felt like it had been engraved in iron. Sookie immediately knew something was wrong.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, her large eyes trying to read his. Rory tiptoed out of the main room into the front hallway, where Jackson and Sookie were talking.  
  
"I lost my job."  
  
Sookie's face was drained of all colour. "How..?" she whispered, horror- struck.  
  
"Carson died."  
  
Sookie was silent, as a small but meaningful tear trickled down her cheek. Rory bit her lip. Carson was the nice old man who had given Jackson his job when Jackson didn't know where else to go. Carson was a good man, perhaps the only noble that she liked. And now he was dead, leaving Jackson with no job. Rory felt tears well up in her eyes and she brushed them away. But a new feeling besides sadness began to form inside of her. It was fear.  
  
"Sookie, how are we going to eat?" Rory asked in a small, shaking voice.  
  
"I don't know." Sookie came over to Rory and embraced her in a huge hug. "But we'll find a way." Rory already knew a way she could get money. She didn't like the idea very much, but she knew she didn't have any choice. She sighed, and wondered how she could get in contact with that annoying, yet slightly handsome thief. 


	4. Training

Title: A Thousand Miles

Chapter: Four [Training- Rory's story]

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! Sorry that the last chapter took a little.a lot longer to put up than I expected, so I'll put up this chapter and the next chapter extra quick to make up for it =) and I'll try to make them extra long, but I love writing this fic anyway so for me the longer the better. Just a brief note on the title of this chapter, yeah its called Rory's story and the next one's going to be called Tristan's story because they were too long for the one thing. But the events of both chapters did occur at around the same time. R/r please and thanks for your reviews! 

Oh yeah one last thingone good turn deserves another so I would also like to recommend my friend Maria24 and her fic Love can be a pain in the butt' cuz its really good!!! 

------------------------------[A Thousand Miles: Training- Rory's Story]-------------------------

Rory sat down next to a large vegetable cart, resting her aching feet, her head hung in desperation. She had circled the markets ten times and still could not find any trace of that skinny, brown-haired thief. Her head hurt, her feet felt bruised and callused, and she was hungry. The delicious smell of freshly baked bread wafted over to where Rory was sitting, and she looked up. A new cart was being wheeled into the market place by a skinny, sour-faced old lady. It was mounted with various loaves of bread, all hot. Rory's mouth watered and she fingered the five bronze coins in her leather pouch, wondering whether or not she should spend the precious money. Getting to her feet almost nervously, she made her way over to the cart of freshly baked bread. 

But it seemed that Rory was not the only one who was interested in the bread. A small crowd began to form around the small, wooden cart, engulfing it and concealing it completely from Rory's view. Her shoulders drooping, she knew that it was hopeless. By the time the crowd would be finished, there would be no bread left. Sighing dejectedly, she turned away from the crowd, preparing herself to make yet another round of the market place in search of that thief. 

Then, suddenly, Rory felt a heavy thump against her back, and she fell forward, unable to keep her balance. Wincing as her palms scraped against the roughly made peasant's path, she struggled as an unseen foe behind mercilessly grabbed her wrists and crossed them over behind her back. 

Keep your face down, a voice whispered in her ear, and then laughed softly. Rory felt someone else remove her leather pouch from around her waist. 

That's mine, she protested, struggling against whoever was holding her down. 

Quiet, you. The voice whispered in her ear again, this time with a dangerous quality. There was silence for a moment and then Rory heard her attackers whispering amongst themselves. Without warning someone slapped her over her head and Rory instinctively kept her head to the ground. There was the scraping of shoes against the ground as she was suddenly freed from the grasp of whoever held her down. Turning herself around weakly, she caught a glimpse of three burly boys, running off with her leather pouch. 

she called out lamely, her voice quivering. Thoughts were rushing through her mind at a remarkable pace. Rory took a couple of breaths and tried to calm herself down, sorting out her emotions into neat little piles. First there was fear, fear of her attackers, fear that it might happen again. Then there was immense confusion. The boy's that attacked her were, most certainly, thieves, and she didn't know if she wanted to become like them, or, even worse, be dominated by them. Then came annoyance. Why didn't she ask those thieves if they knew who that brown-haired, skinny thief was? She had the perfect opportunity to find him and she let it slip through her fingers! Next came anger; anger at the thieves for robbing her, angry with the brown-haired boy for deserting her, angry with Carson for dying, angry with her mother for leaving her on her own.. Rory's thoughts finally fell upon Sookie and Jackson, and she felt a heavy feeling in her chest and butterflies in her stomach as immense guilt filled her heart. What was she going to tell them? Losing five bronze coins may not seem a lot, but to Sookie, Rory and Jackson, it meant there was another meal that they would have to go without. 

Aren't you going to run after them? A smooth, cheerful voice came from behind her. 

Rory tilted her head slightly to come face to face with the brown-haired thief that she had sought for so long. Rory shook her head tiredly, and closed her eyes, letting out a long breath. 

I don't know what to do. Rory murmured to herself softly, her eyes still closed. The thief looked at the pretty girl sitting down in front of him and noticed that her hands were shaking. Soundlessly he sat next to her, his deep, brown eyes staring at her intently.

he apologized, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. I hope my friends didn't rough you up too much.

Rory's eyes snapped open. Those vermin are your friends?

The boy quickly came to the defence of his friends. Yes, as a matter of fact they are and I'd appreciate it if you didn't compare rats to them. They're people too. Just because they don't earn what you call a honest living' doesn't mean that they're less than human. 

They stole my money. Rory argued, outraged. 

You're a peasant. You can earn some more easily. The thief shrugged it off. You people are so obsessed with how badly the nobles treat you that you don't really care about how you treat everyone else. I bet you've never even skipped a meal.

Rory glared at the thief, opening her mouth to shoot back a hurtful reply, but then stopped herself. Her face fell, and her eyes became full of sadness. Her now messy, brown hair dropped over her shoulders to cover half of her face, and she stared at the ground she was sitting on, drawing meaningless patterns on its surface. 

Don't talk to me about skipping meals. Rory said, barely above a whisper, her voice wavering. Don't even pretend you know about how I live or how I treat others. Her voice rose dangerously as she tried to hold back her tears. I'm hungry, okay!? She yelled at the boy, who seemed startled at such a display. I'm hungry, and I don't have enough money to buy food, because your friends' stole all I had left, and Jackson lost his job so we cant earn anymore and--- Rory's voice dissolved in sobs, and she buried her face in her hands, crying. 

The boy stared at the pretty, almost beautiful, thirteen year old girl in front of him, sobbing her heart out. Not knowing what to say, he clumsily wrapped his arms around her and awkwardly stroked her hair. She fell into his arms, crying into his untidy tunic. 

Uh..don't cry, he told her quietly, not sure of what to say. He looked around to make sure none of his friends were watching, and felt his cheeks go red. He had to put an end to this seemingly never-ending flood of tears. Don't worry, I'll teach you how to be a thief. Then you can have enough money and food for you, and.. uh.. Jackson.. and..

Rory supplied.

Whoever. It'll be all right. Just stop..um..crying. 

Rory looked up at the boy, her brilliantly blue eyes sparkling with tears. you don't do this very often, do you? she sniffed.

The thief shook his head and laughed nervously. I wasn't that bad, was I? 

You could've been better. Rory said critically, her nose still pink. By the way, I don't think I got your name. 

I'm Jess. The boy grinned. He stood up soundlessly and held out his hand. And you are..?

she answered, taking his hand and getting to her feet. Looking up at the darkening sky Rory was surprised to find that it was evening already. Jess followed her gaze.

You'd better go home, wherever your home is. Jess said, breaking the silence. Sookie must be getting worried. 

Rory nodded, and turned around to go. She heard Jess call out to her from behind her. Meet me here tomorrow. 

Turning around, she asked. For what?

Jess grinned evilly. For your training. 

Okay, I'll see you there. But Jess, promise me one thing. 

Please promise me that I wont turn out like you. Rory laughed and ran off into the evening, her hair flowing behind her, leaving the youthful, thirteen-year-old thief behind her, staring at her with a straight face. Turning around, he climbed up a nearby wall without a sound to where his friends were watching, on top of a flat-roofed house. 

I think I'll take that as a compliment. You know what, I might have just made a friend. He murmured to himself, then wiped all expression from his face and motioned for his friends to follow. One by one, the thieves disappeared into the shadows, which is, of course, what thieves do best. 

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Rory walked through the market place to the spot where she had been sitting the day before. This time she carried no money with her. While turning her head from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of Jess, she caught a better view of her surroundings, which had seemed to escape her the day before. She was walking down a large, dirt road, naturally made by a river of some sort that had long dried up. Houses with flat roofs and merchant's carts lined the road, and people bustled back and forth busily. 

Trying not to look conspicuous, she stood in her usual place, near the parchment stall, next to one of the flat-roofed building, and tried to look like she was waiting for someone. 

Plunk!

A pebble had just fallen on Rory's head and she yelped in surprise. Looking up angrily she saw Jess and a couple of his friends sitting up on the roof, grinning slyly at her. Jess signalled for her to be silent, and, looking left and right to make sure no one was watching, jumped down from the roof of the building, seemingly with the agility and balance of cat. Rory could only gape.

How did you do that? she asked him, but he didn't reply and grabbed hold of her arm, practically dragging her along the road, stopping in front of a fruit cart. 

The easiest cart to steal from is the fruit cart. Jess explained to her in a whisper. There's a different merchant every day so they can't remember what we look like, fruit's light and nice and easy to carry, and there's so many of it that it's hard to keep track of every single piece. 

Rory nodded, to show Jess that she understood.

Also, the fruit merchants never seem to run after us thieves, probably because they're too lazy, or it might be the fact that they still have a whole cart of fruit to mind. Now, you're job is to steal an apple from that cart.

Rory nodded again, swallowing hard. She wasn't completely sure that her conscience would let her steal, but she didn't have enough time to find out. With a firm hand on her back, Jess shoved her forward. 

Rory whipped back around to glare at Jess, but she was surprised to find that he had disappeared from her sight. Letting out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding, she started towards the fruit cart. Spotting an apple, she picked it up and looked it over, as if inspecting it. The merchant glared at her suspiciously, but was distracted when another customer came along with a whole pouch full of sparkling gold. Making sure that the merchant was properly busy, she held the apple tight in her hand and ran off, ignoring the shouts of the merchant from behind her. Ducking into a branch-off of the main road, where there was gap between flat-roofed houses, she kept her back against the wall, listening carefully for signs of anyone following her. She was concentrating so hard that it took her awhile to notice that someone next to her had plucked the apple out of her hand. It was not until the person started crunching on the apple loudly, that she realised she was not alone.

Jess! Don't do that! she almost shrieked. 

he said to her. Keep you're voice low, and calm down! 

How did I go? she asked nervously. 

Jess tilted his head back, staring at her and evaluating her performance. Pretty good, for a beginner, was his verdict. The attitude was a little off, but that will improve in time.

Attitude? I don't even have an attitude. Rory said, confused.

That's my point. Jess grinned and winked. Looking all nervous when you're about to steal an apple is all well and fine, but when you start picking pockets, slitting people's throat, and holding people hostage and such, you cant risk showing that you're nervous.

Rory visibly paled. Slitting throats? she whispered disbelievingly. I.. I can't do that. 

You're going to have to learn if you want to be a good thief. You have to learn how to defend yourself. Hey, it's either their throat or yours. Jess shrugged, and saw Rory's uneasiness. Look, if you don't want to do this tell me now. I'm not going to lie to you, Rory; it's going to be tough. You see some pretty horrible things in this profession, and if you cant handle a simple throat cutting than you're doomed from the start. It's up to you, do you want this enough? 

Rory's mind raced, unsure of what to say. Did she really want this? Is this what her mother died for, to see her daughter mixing with thieves and murderers? Could she really do this, take away another human's life, just so she could have an extra meal? Then she remembered Sookie and Jackson, and the desperation and sadness in their eyes the night Jackson lost his job. Do I love them enough to kill for them? Rory asked herself, and she knew the answer was yes. She'd do anything for Sookie and Jackson. She'd give up her own life for them. She would sacrifice everything, even her conscience, for them. 

And so the Lorelai in Rory shined through, surprising Jess who was watching the pretty, gentle, brown-haired girl in front of him fight an internal battle. He watched in amazement as her face hardened and she levelled her eyes to his, full of emotionless determination. 

I want this. Rory said firmly. Jess nodded, still watching Rory in amazement. 

Okay, then you'd better meet the rest of us Jess whistled, a shrill, piercing note, and five other boys dropped down soundlessly from the roof. The Rory of five minutes ago would have tried to run away when she spotted the gleaming metal around each of their wastes, but this Rory simply nodded in greeting. 

Everyone, this is Rory. She's going to be one of us. Rory surmised that Jess was a ringleader of some sort. Rory, this is Mitch, Richard, Ronald, Charles and Jon. Each of the thieves bowed formally as Jess said their name. Rory took in these people's facing, faintly smiling, trying to make a good impression. She knew that these people were going to play an important part in her life, and she wanted to get off to a good start with them. Little did she know that these people weren't just going to be in her life, they were going to shape it. 


	5. The Meeting

Title: A Thousand Miles

Chapter: Five [The Meeting]

A/N: Sorry I haven't posted any chapters up on this fan fiction for a long timebut no it hasn't disappeared into some weird, cosmic, black hole its still here and I hope you enjoy it! I just have a few points to make. Firstly, I mentioned in the last chapter how that was Training: Rory's Story' and this chapter would be Training: Tristan's Story', but I figured that it would just take too long, and it would drag the story on, so I just skipped it and got to the part when Rory and Tristan actually meet, for the first time. So the previous chapter is just going to be called Training' and this chapter is going to be called the meeting.' Pretty self-explanatory. But, because of this, there has been another major time jump so now Rory is sixteen. =P Secondly, I mentioned five other thieves in the previous chapter, and I described them as boys'. I'd just like to change that to people' or something, because if you read this chapter you'll find that some of them are a little bit old to be called boys'. Excuse me on this- I shall correct that chapter when I can be bothered. Also thank you for all you're great reviews, please keep them coming! The feedback's priceless ^.^ I tried to make this chapter [not just the a/n] a little bit longer to make up for the delays I have had in writing the next chapter! I hope you enjoy!!! 

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Three carts were set up next to each other. The one on the left was selling fresh fruits and vegetables, and was watched by a burly, dark-haired man with large eyebrows and log sideburns. The one in the middle was selling pots and pans, and was tended by a skinny, unpleasant looking woman with a sour mouth and a small pinched nose. The one on the right was selling various jewels and other fancy trinkets, and was tended by a young, darkly tanned boy with large, hazel eyes. 

A sixteen-year-old Rory watched from a rooftop, her eyes darting from side to side trying to decide which cart to ambush. Her eyes fell on the cart in the middle. Sookie's birthday was coming up and a brand-new, large, bronze pot would be the perfect gift. 

Rory sensed soundless footfalls behind her and felt a shadow fall over her. Looking up she saw the large figure of Mitch towering over her, his messy brown hair shadowing his eyes and giving him a dangerous look. This, of course, was deceiving. Mitch, being the second eldest of the gang of thieves, was like a big brother to Rory, the big brother she never had. 

Which one? he asked her softly, motioning to the carts.

The one in the middle Rory whispered back. It's Sookie's birthday soon and I want to get her something special. 

Are you sure you want to steal her present? You know how she feels about you thieving Mitch reminded Rory. Rory shifted uncomfortably.

I didn't really think of that. She admitted. 

Mitch reached into his left pocket and pulled out a couple of gold coins and held them out to Rory. She looked at them in confusion.

What are those for? she asked.

For you. Mitch grinned. I found them on a pathway a couple of miles from here. I didn't steal them, I promise. 

But what would I use them for? Rory wanted to know.

To buy one of those big bronze pots for Sookie's birthday.

Rory looked up at Mitch sharply. You can't ask me to take this. It's yours.

I'm giving it to you. It's yours now. Mitch pressed the coins into Rory's hand and winked. Plus, I want to steal some stuff from the cart on the right, and I can't do that with you in the way.

Rory's pretty face broke into a grin and her clear blue eyes sparkled. Standing on her tiptoes she gave Mitch a quick peck on the cheek. Mitch grinned wider and turned around, walking into the shadows. Rory jumped down soundlessly from the roof, and walked up to the middle cart, coins still in hand. The skinny, sour-mouthed woman looked at the approaching Rory with distaste, taking into account the state of her clothes and the small knife at her waste. 

the woman asked sharply, her quick eyes darting from side to side suspiciously, laying one hand protectively over her pots.

I want to buy one of your pots. Rory said as politely as she could. That big bronze one would be nice. 

Do you have money? the woman sniffed, as if trying to muss out the scent of gold. She now looked at Rory with a tiny bit more respect. This kid had money and she was going to swindle it from her! 

How much is the pot? Rory asked innocently. The woman cursed under her breath. This kid knew how to haggle. Rory hadn't actually bought a single thing honestly from any cart whatsoever, but she had seen people do it countless times before. Jess, whose talents never seemed to cease, had given her a few tips. Pretend that you know what you're doing, even if you don't,' was his advice. It's all in the attitude.' 

Five gold coins. The woman said stubbornly. Rory's stomach churned in her stomach; she only had four gold coins. Swallowing hard, she started walking away.

Where are you going? the lady asked. 

You can't fool me, lady. Rory said firmly although inside she was a nervous wreck. I'd pay three golden coins for that and no more. 

the lady spluttered. Are you trying to buy me broke, child? I can't live on three golden coins! 

Rory shrugged. You're better off with three golden coins than with none. But, that of course, is my opinion. Rory sighed and continued walking.

Four! Four coins! That's as low as I'm going! I've got children to feed, you know! The lady shrieked from behind her. Rory hid her grin and turned around.

she said softly. Well, I don't know 

It's as low as I'm going. The woman glared at her stubbornly.

Rory sighed. I really shouldn't, she said in mock sympathy, handing the lady four gold coins. But I feel sorry for all those children you have to feed. Children should never go hungry.

The woman took the four coins grudgingly and handed Rory the large bronze pot. Rory took it, said a hasty thank you, and walked away smiling. Her smile turned into a grin when she heard her friends attacking the trinket cart. As metal hit metal, shouts came from behind her. 

Rory! The hideout! Mitch's voice called out. Then there was silence.

_The hideout?_ Rory thought to herself, and sighed out loud. _I have to carry this huge bronze pot all the way to the hideout! _

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Jess looked up quickly as the revolving bookcase swung around the reveal Rory. She was carrying a ridiculously large bronze pot in her left hand, and in her right hand she was holding a non-descript, red covered book. Replacing the book onto its proper spot on the bookshelf, she hastily stepped off the turning platform, which soundlessly revolved around back into its original position. As she collapsed, exhausted, into a wooden chair, Jess glared at her. 

You're late. He pointed out, when she stared back at him questioningly. 

Well you never said what time I had to be here. Rory protested. When she was met by the cold glances of the band of thieves, she frowned, and concentrated on the ground. I couldn't help it if the pot was so heavy.

Then why did you buy it? Jess asked harshly.

It's Sookie's birthday soon, and I wanted to get her something special. Rory explained.

So you were late because you were too busy picking out a _birthday present_? Jess asked disbelievingly. Rory's face brightened.

Yeah! Do you want to see it? It's got really strong handles and everything. Rory hurried forward to show the pot to Jess. The band of thieves that surrounded them laughed hard and heartily, Mitch the loudest of all. 

Jess muttered darkly, and waved Rory away. Rory frowned, not understanding the joke, and swept her long dark hair back behind her shoulders.

And now, to business. Jess declared, clearing his throat and gathering up the shreds of his dignity. It's the king's birthday soon

Why should we care? Jon asked, his rat-like voice enlaced with hatred. He was a short, skinny, oily-haired man, twenty or so years old, gifted in spying and slipping in and out of places unnoticed. He bore a great dislike to the Royal Family, probably because they had hung his mother and younger sister when he was in his youth; the only family that he ever had.

We shouldn't, Jess said carefully, staring at Jon. Besides the small fact that Marcus is bringing the _crown jewels_ from his stronghold of a palace for the ceremony.

Rory sat up straighter in her seat. What, so we're going to steal them? she asked.

We're going to attempt to. Jess nodded firmly.

Jon smiled, though to those who didn't know him well it looked very much like a grimace. Yeah, that'd pay the stinking royal family back he said, a dangerous glint in his eye.

Mitch spoke up, and hit his fist with the palm of his other hand. It's just too dangerous. We're never going to pull it off. 

I side with Mitch. Spoke up Charles, a snobby boy fourteen years in age. He was a would-be noble, until he was convicted of treason. Rory still wasn't completely sure if he was innocent or not, the topic was hardly ever discussed. It's too dangerous. I'm not going to risk my neck for a couple of worthless diamonds!

Then you're a fool. Richard said. He was a farmer's son who, like Rory, became a thief to earn some money. But despite his lowly status in the great scheme of things, he was a brilliant strategist. It's a chance of a lifetime. I'd eat Jon's foot if Marcus ever brought the crown jewels out of his own private palace before this. I wonder why he's doing it 

What's so important about these jewels anyway? Charles continued, sniffing impishly. They don't look very valuable to me.

Despite how valuable they might look to you, Charles, in the real world, they're worth more than five million gold coins. Ronald said softly. Even Jess' mouth dropped open. No one questioned whether or not this was true, or how Ronald had gotten this information. Ronald was old, very old. Rory suspected he was over a hundred. He was the eldest in the band of thieves and he was still in good shape, light as a feather, quick and nimble, though he hardly ever spoke. But when he did, everyone was sure to listen, for his words came from wisdom's mouth itself. 

Five million gold coins? Rory repeated disbelievingly. 

I don't care! Mitch growled. It's still too dangerous! 

Jess opened his mouth to argue, but Rory stopped him. It's not dangerous, Mitch, she said calmly; only her eyes betrayed her- they wide and sparkling with excitement. It's a challenge. We're the best of the best in thievery and trickery. No one else has managed to survive for so long without being caught. We're going to make it. We're going to steal the crown jewels, and not just for ourselves, but also for everyone who has ever been trodden over by the royal monarchy. _And for you, mom_she added silently.

There was silence in which everyone was staring at Rory in amazement. It was moments like this when Jess valued Rory's friendship above all else. 

Here here! Jon called out loudly, breaking the silence with his loud claps. The others joined in, even Jess and Ronald. After the applause had died away, Jess leaned forward.

Form a circle. He commanded, charcoal and parchment in hand. We've got a plan to devise 

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Rory felt the familiar feeling of butterflies in her stomach and the adrenaline pumping through her blood, like she always felt when she was about to undergo a huge undercover scheme. Reaching down underneath her silk coat, she was relieved to find her sharp, silver dagger still firmly attached to her waste. She had only ever harmed someone with it once before, a blacksmith armed with hot metal, and only then she had stabbed him in the foot, but she had hated the experience all the same. Still, it was reassuring to know that she had some means of protection from the merciless palace guards. She looked at Jess and then at Charles, both of who were standing on either side of her. Charles was fiddling with his high neck collar nervously, while Jess was as cool as always. Jess was never nervous before a robbery. 

Rory had to admit that Jess looked quite handsome and grown up in his outfit. He was wearing white leggings, semi-white pants, a smart blue coat with gold tassels, and black, polished shoes. He was quite the gentleman. Even Charles didn't look all that bad in his ensemble, which was identical to Tristan's except red in colour. Rory, herself, felt uncomfortable wearing nobles' clothes. Her dress was long and silver-grey, and it shimmered when she moved. Since it was a little chilly out, she also wore a purple silk cloak. Sookie had done her hair in a fancy style, all the while whispering words of warning and advice to Rory nervously. Charles had easily donned himself, Rory and Jess these nobles' clothing so that they could sneak inside the palace unnoticed, perhaps as a couple of noble kids who had wondered a little too far. A footfall behind them walked Mitch in a plain black smock and black tights. He was dressed to imitate a palace guard, since his build was about the same and his features, common to a large extent. 

Rory swallowed as the group of four passed a large line of guards, and she hoped that Richard and Jon's disguise would be successful. They were a little way back, dressed as farmers bringing food supplies to the palace kitchen. Richard's father had kindly lent them his cart and given them various fruits and vegetables to load the cart with. For a brief second Rory was envious of Ronald. Because of his old age his part in the dangerous scheme was to keep watch at head quarters, far, far away from the palace. But then she came to her senses and realised that she didn't want to be somewhere far away, safe and sound. She wanted to make a difference.

After successfully passing the palace guards, Mitch split up from the rest of them, and pretended to stand post next to one of the many large windows. Rory wasn't worried about him; he looked like a professional. It was herself that she was worried about. She almost blew her cover several times. Her closest encounter with failure was when she past her grandparents while walking. They were dressed very ceremoniously but had a sad look in their eyes. When Rory bypassed them, her grandfather stopped her.

Excuse me, Miss, you look so very much like my deceased daughter. May I ask what your name is he said in a deep, sorrowful voice. 

Oh Richard, stop fussing, Rory's grandmother fixed up his coat, turning around so that no one could see the tears in her eyes. Never mind him, dear. She murmured to Rory. He's getting a little bit to old for all these ceremonial occasions. And with that, Emily and Richard Gilmore hurried off.

Rory looked wistfully at the direction they had hurried off to, but Jess laid a firm hand on her shoulder. We're your family now. He said, a little jealously. Rory dismissed his attitude as just being protective. Not them. They wouldn't have even turned an eye on you if not for the expensive clothing that you were wearing.

Rory nodded numbly, trying to agree with Jess, but inside, she wasn't so sure. She kept on thinking about the encounter long after Richard and Emily had passed, even with Jess throwing her warning glances every couple of seconds. Eventually, Charles, Jess and Rory reached their parting spot. Charles would hop out onto the window's balcony on the left, guarding the spot where their escape route lied, while Rory and Jess would hide out on the balcony on the right. It was them who would do the actual stealing. As they whispered good luck' to each other and waved goodbye, they each positioned themselves in their proper hiding spot. Of course, there was the small problem of the guards who were surrounding the room that the crown jewels were placed in. If Rory peeked into the window she could see the jewels, shimmering in the fast disappearing sunlight, but the guard's shadows always darkened the splendour. No matter, for when the time came, Richard, Mitch and Jon would cover Rory and Jess' backs while they did the actual thieving. Actually, Richard and Jon would do most of the dirty work; Mitch was just a back up, in case something went wrong.

Rory impatiently waited for the cover of darkness. Staring up into the sky she saw the sun begin to set, it's beautiful crimson-orange colours painted beautifully over the star-speckled sky.

Oh, Jess, look! she said, touching his arm lightly. He looked.

It's a sunset. Wow. Jess replied sarcastically. Rory glared at him.

Must you spoil everything beautiful and magnificent? she asked him, annoyed. Jess grinned mischievously.

Well, I spoiled you, didn't I he said, a cheeky glint in his eye. Rory swung her arm around to punch him lightly on the arm, but doing so out of the corner of her eye she saw a palace guard unsheathing his knife. She had no time to warn Jess so she changed her tactics. Instead of punching him, she swung both of her arms around his neck and kissed him, squeezing her eyes shut expecting to feel cold steel slicing between her ribs at any moment. 

The guard coughed, and Rory and Jess pulled apart. Jess' eyes were wide with shock but Rory just faced the guard, embarrassed. 

Do you think you could give us a little privacy, sir she asked in a small, seductive voice, her blue eyes shining mysteriously. The guard mumbled a few words about not getting carried away and then hastily averted his gaze, shuffling away. Rory turned to Jess who was no staring at her like she had three heads. She shuddered to think that she had kissed him. It was like kissing your own brother! 

Why did you do that for? Jess exclaimed suddenly, coming to life. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth roughly in disgust.

Oh don't be such a baby about it, Rory said, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. I did what I had to do. 

There were other ways, you know. Jess fumed.

Rory remained quiet, concentrating very hard on her fingernails. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two until darkness completely covered the castle and the party was well and truly underway. It was time for action. 

Rory's eyes shimmered in excitement. Any minute now, Jon and Richard were going to burst through the wooden doors of the room, after they had taken care of the guards outside the doors. Mitch was already hiding on a balcony closer to the doors, a convenient spot where he could step in if things got out of hand. There was a faint thump outside the two doors. The ten guards in the room perked their ears up, and four of the guards went to investigate while six stayed close to the crown jewels. A brave guard, probably the commanding officer, opened the door. He paused in shock, and took in his two doormen lying dead on the ground, one pierced in the neck by a sword, and one smothered to death. Then was greeted by the smiling face of Richard, who slit his throat quickly and professionally. Rory looked away and swallowed hard. She felt Jess's hand touch her arm protectively; he knew how she felt about killings. She was grateful for his presence. 

As Jon and Richard preceded killing and crippling the guards, Jess and Rory kept a close watch. When nine of the guards were down and only one was left, Jess signalled to Rory that it was time to move. The two jumped inside the window, and sped across the room to where the crown jewels were held. Jess grabbed them and wrapped them inside a pouch of green velvet, hanging it around his neck. Then he grabbed Rory's arm and motioned for her to run ahead to the other side of the room where another window was; that should have been where Charles was hiding, but he was not there. Rory was suddenly aware of how quiet the room had gotten. She turned around with dread in her stomach. Another regiment of guards, more than two-dozen, were entering the room. They had red sashes around their waste; they were the king's personal protectors. Jon was injured, blood was pouring down the side of his face, and he was feebly fighting off the attacks of the guards. Richard was lying unconscious on the ground. Jess had fallen over one of the bodies of the dead soldiers and was now struggling to get up. Rory hurried to help him but looked up when one more people entered the room; Marcus, holding a knife to Charles throat. 

Jess finally scrambled to his feet but a fast moving guard pierced him deep in the ankle and he moaned in pain. Clutching his right foot, he moaned in agony, but with his left hand he swung the velvet pouch off his neck and threw it at Rory. Rory caught it, and made a run for the window. She made it! Jumping through the window with the pouch clutched firmly in hand, she was about to climb down the escape rope that Charles was supposed to attach to the railing of the balcony, but it was not there. Crouching on the ground, she searched pathetically for it, until she heard someone behind her unsheathing a sword. Then she felt cold, sharp metal pressed against her throat, and looked up to see her attacker. It was the king. He was holding his sword in one hand and the escape rope in the other. His blue-green eyes were unreadable.

Well, well, he said in an amused tone, his voice smooth and strangely calm. What do we have here? 

Authors Other Note: R/R Please! Thankyou!!! ^.^


	6. Dressed To Impress

Title: A Thousand Miles

Author: Butter

Chapter: Six [Dressed to Impress]

Author's Note: Hey! It's been a while since my last update but not as long as beforeI've got exams coming up soon so I have an excuse this time! This chapter is a little short compared to last chapter because I have to make the next chapter extra long to fit everything I want to fit in. Look out for chapter seven because it has cool trory action ^.^ Yeah, thanks for all your great reviews, I love the feedback and it's really great motivation for me! Feel free to give any constructive critism and even if you review or not, whoever or wherever you are, I hope you continue reading A Thousand Miles' because it's definitely one of my favourites! And sorry about my cliff hangerbut I love to leave people hanging ^.^ 

P.S. oh yeah, n TayLiz thanks for pointing that out. Yes, Tristan' was supposed to be Jess' . ooops! Hehehe but you can tell what was on my mind ;) 

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Rory swallowed nervously, watching the King pace the room. Out of the five thieves, she was the only one unhurt, not including Charles who still had Marcus' knife pressed against his throat. Jess was sprawled on the ground next to her, clutching his ankle even more tightly as the blood trickled through his fingers. Richard was still knocked out, but Jon seemed to be all right, only receiving a shallow head wound. He was now hovering protectively over Rory, his fists ready, since his sword lay on the ground next to Marcus' feet, useless. 

What are we going to do about these _vermin_, Your Majesty? Marcus asked in a cold, unpleasant voice. Rory shot an angry glance at Marcus for calling her friends vermin, then realised that three years ago she had done the exact same thing. It didn't stop her being angry, though it made her feel a little guilty.

The king opened his mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted by a small, round, fat man dressed in blue and purple striped velvet who had burst into the room, panting. The king looked irritably over at the small man, and the little man glanced at him apologetically. 

What is it, Duke? he asked, his voice short and crisp, and his blue-green eyes flashing. The Duke winced.

Sorry, Your Majesty. It's just thatthat the crowning ceremonyit's started. The Duke stuttered, his voice husky out of nervousness. 

The king muttered under his breath and the Duke gave him a disapproving glance.

Your Majesty, please, 

Sorry, Lancelot, The king said, and Rory was surprised to find a teasing edge in his voice. The King and the Duke were obviously old friends.

Marcus' voice snapped, harsh as a whip. The king's attention was brought to Marcus. What to do with your prisoners? 

Rory objected, and the king's attention was immediately brought upon her. She suddenly realised that she still held the crown jewels in the velvet pouch in her hand. Marcus realised it too.

Hand it over, he snarled. 

Marcus pressed the knife harder against Charles throat. Charles gave a small moan as the knife cut into his flesh, and Marcus's knife was now stained with drops of red. Rory could see that it was only a small cut, but Charles had never been one for pain.

Hand it over. Marcus repeated, and as Rory met his eyes, she understood his unspoken threat. She held out the velvet pouch. Tristan glanced at Marcus, and, after a nod, took the velvet pouch from Rory, their eyes meeting. He was surprised to find how blue her eyes were, but then shook his head. This was no time for courting. 

Quickly looking away, he opened the pouch out of need for something else to do, and made sure that the crown jewels were safe an unharmed. After giving his affirmation to Marcus, Marcus let go of Charles. Charles fell to the floor, whimpering. 

Your Majesty The Duke pressed, a little impatiently. 

Tristan glanced at Marcus. He knew what he had to do. 

I'll be there shortly, Duke. Make a speech or something, you're good at things like that. Tristan waved his hand dismissively. The Duke turned his round self around and strode out the doors, muttering angrily to himself something about unfairness. He hated public speaking, and Tristan knew it.

Tristan said, his tone authorities. He turned to face Rory and her friends. Jon put a protective hand on Rory's shoulder, and this, Rory was grateful for. It gave her courage. You all will stay here, until I return. 

Yeah, whatever you say, _Your Majesty_, Jess muttered, sarcastically. Tristan turned and kicked Jess in the stomach. Jess scrunched up his face in pain, but didn't cry out. 

Rory ran forward to Jess, to see if he was all right, pulling away from Jon's iron grip. But as Rory moved passed Tristan, he grabbed her arm. She glared at him, but with his right hand he drew his sword from his hilt, and for a second time felt cold metal against her throat. 

You will all stay here, Tristan repeated, glaring directly at Jess. When I return, if I find out that you have run away, or tried to fight any of my guards, or cause any kind of havoc, _she_ will die.

Jess stayed silent, glowering. He had no choice. None of them did. They couldn't risk Rory's life. Tristan removed his sword from Rory's neck, but kept his grip on her arm. 

he said, pulling her sharply. Come with me. 

Tristan pulled Rory out into the hallway, Marcus following swiftly behind after giving brief instructions to one of the guards. You, you must stay within my sight at all times, do you understand? he said. Stray out of my sight just a little and you shall die.

Rory was so angry now that she was sarcastic. Well, if you're going to threaten my life you might as well ask me for my name.

Tristan glared at her. Fine. What's your name?

Like I'd tell you. 

Marcus caught up with the two and coldly slapped Rory across the face before Tristan could respond. That is not the way you talk to your king! he blazed, and continued walking down the hallway. Tristan, holding Rory's arm, followed. Rory didn't really have a choice.

Hurry up! Marcus snapped. Rory hurried.

At the end of the hall there was a small door that Marcus was holding open. Tristan finally let go of Rory's arm and motioned her inside the room. Rory looked at the two suspiciously but, out of options, entered the room cautiously. 

You have five minutes. Marcus commanded roughly, and Rory thought that it seemed like Marcus was the King and Tristan was just another servant, but her thought was cut off when Marcus slammed the door on her. Rory heard the turning of a key, and sighed in frustration. Five minutes? To do what? 

That's when she started to actually take notice of her surroundings. Turning around so that her back faced the wall, the first thing she saw in front of her was a huge bed with red satin covers. The head of the bed was against one side of the cream-coloured four-walled room. Across from the bed, leaning against another cream-coloured wall, was a huge vanity, the biggest Rory had ever seen, and next to the vanity, a wardrobe. Gingerly opening the wardrobe she saw the most beautiful gown that she had ever laid eyes on in her entire life. It was long, very long, past her ankles Rory estimated, and it was made out of some kind of purple and blue satiny material that swished when she touched it. Sewn into the material were tiny, minute diamonds that followed a sequined pattern. So exact was the needlework that the dress shimmered in the faint light of the room, giving it an unearthly glow. It was so much prettier than her amateur noble clothes that Charles had got, and she couldn't help but try it on. That's when she saw the shoes- made out of crystal and glass, shimmering with such beauty as if competing with the dress. Smiling slightly, she felt a little twinge of guilt at trying on clothes while her fellow thieves, especially Jess, were locked up in a room full of guards. Poor Jon, Richard, Charles, MitchMitch! Rory had forgotten all about Mitch! He must have still been hiding in the room where the crown jewels were! There was hope for escape! Rory felt a rush of adrenaline but calmed herself down. She had to act like Tristan had captured all of her friends with no hope of escape. She had to act like she was at Marcus' mercy. She had to play alongwhich of course, involved her trying on that dress and those shoes. 

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Tristan's mouth dropped open as Marcus unlocked the door. The blue-eyed thief looked beautiful in the royal blue silk dress that shone with diamonds as she walked. The dress brought out her eyes and made them even lovelier than before. It was all Tristan could do not to stare. Marcus wasn't impressed though. He barely noticed the change. 

Come on, was all he said. We can't leave the guests waiting. 

Rory involuntarily followed Marcus, letting Tristan take the rear. After two flights of stairs upward and walking through countless corridors, the three finally arrived in front of a large, red curtain. Rory sensed the smell of food and heard short snippets of conversation through the curtain. There were people there, just going about their normal lives while she was held under threat of knifepoint!

Marcus turned to face Rory. You must be Tristan's courtier at his crowning ceremony. He informed her. Rory must have shown surprise on her face because Tristan stepped in. Don't worry, I'll show you the ropes. He said, smirking. Rory vividly remembered the rope that he had held in his hand when she was looking for a way out of the palace, and suddenly her anger re-erupted like a flame that refused to go out.

There's no way I'm pretending to like you, Rory spat, and Tristan recoiled, automatically defensive. He drew his sword.

Are you sure? he asked, but Rory was tired of all his threats. Under normal circumstances her temper would subside, but it wasn't every day that a King took you and your very best friends as prisoners. 

Kill me, then. There's no point in my being alive if it's just so I can stand next to you. She retorted, a little more harshly then intended. Something similar to amusement lit up in Marcus' eyes.

And what about all your thief friends? How will they react when they find out you've died? he snarled.

Rory bit back a response as she thought of Jon, Richard, Charles and Jess. They were all waiting for her, forsaking any plans of escape, risking _their_ own lives for her safety. Would she throw her own life away just like that? Certainly not! 

You're right, she said to Marcus, not giving the king a second glance. For some reason she could not name she didn't want to look at him, she didn't want to stare into those blue-green eyes for fear that they might engulf her. He was so probing, so serious, yet so disturbed and obnoxious. Rory might as well not bother. 

Gingerly interlinking her left arm with Tristan's right, she waited, her chin held high as Marcus signalled for the curtain to part. It parted, with the sound of trumpets blazing, as the nobles politely clapped. A murmur ran through the crowd, though, when the nobles spotted Rory, wondering who this new, unseen girl was, and whether she was of any importance to the King. 

Rory, though, didn't take any notice of the people who were watching her. There was only one she was looking at- Mitch, dressed in black, situated right at the very back of the large banquet hall. He nodded once, inconspicuously, as a sign of respect, and Rory was hopeful. They might escape after all. 


	7. Dancing

A/n: Thanks for all your reviews they were all really great and supportive! I haven't worked on this fic in ages but I've fallen in love with it again and, because of that and because of all your encouraging reviews I'm putting this chapter up super-quick, quicker than I would've normally. It's also to make up for the long time between most chapters.. yeah, so I hope you like it and enjoy the trory action while it lasts because though I hate to admit it, for Tristan and Rory, tough times are ahead. Enjoy the story! 

A Thousand Miles

Chapter Seven: Dancing

Jess swung his head back from an offending blow, his temples already throbbing. The King's burly guards, dressed in black with red sashes, laughed loudly, and aimed another punch at Richard, who was still unconscious on the ground. Jess started to feel concern towards his friend – he was beginning to worry that Richard might suffer some permanent damage. His fingers itched to grab the small, silver dagger, sewn between the golden trims of his jacket, or the sharp, curved, metal spikes hidden in the cuff of each sleeve. Jess had made the suitable adjustments to his blue jacket so he could carry weapons without looking conspicuous, just in case anything went wrong. But though Jess loved to boast about his many, various talents, there was one that he kept to himself – sewing. A sharp slap across his face with a sword hilt brought him back to the current situation. Wiping the blood away from his nose, he automatically reached for his dagger, but then stopped himself. He didn't want Rory to die. Looking across the room from him, he saw Jon hovering over Richard's body, staring at the sword in his unmoving hand. Jon leant forward as if to attempt to snatch the sword up, but then froze, and caught Jess' eye. He didn't want Rory to die either. Jess cringed, as he received a whack in the back from a large mace, and fell to the ground, ceding to the pain. So involved were the guards in playing with their amusements that they didn't notice a shadow pass over the walls and out the door. Charles noticed though. _Mitch, save us, _he thought, and tried not to let the tears fall as two guards pulled him roughly by his shirt and thrust him against a wall.

* * * * *

Mitch always knew that he was big. When he first joined Jess' band of thieves, he was a little reluctant that he would be accepted because of his size- large men weren't really good at creeping in the dark. But quick-minded Jess had accepted Mitch into the group, giving him jobs that he was good at, jobs that involved fists and muscles, rather than brains and feet. And, during time, and with the help of the other thieves, Mitch had developed his own style of disappearing into the shadows'. He could now do it as quietly and efficiently as any respectable thief, and he was quite proud of himself too. But here, in the palace, was where his talents were sorely tested. Yet, somehow, he managed to get past the guards, and managed to go unnoticed into the hall where the coronation ceremony was to take place. Of course, the fact that he donned guard's clothing helped him a lot. He had the facial expression and apparent mentality of a standard palace guard, and his bulky figure helped a lot too. So he managed to get to the hall un noticed. 

He stood at the back of the hall with a couple of other guards, who were joking to each other about some woman or another. Mitch hid an expression of disgust, and viewed hi surroundings. The hall was large, very large, and open. It could hardly be called a hall at all. From his standing spot he could see the night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance. Huge pillars held up the roof, and dangling from each pillar was a large lantern lit with a single candle, creating a soft, illuminating, magical glow. It was the type of nights where fairytales took place. There was a large, red curtain at the front of the hall, with a golden tassel. As the shrill sound of trumpets rang in the air, the curtain opened 

* * * * *

The King's mother grimaced as she heard the foul-mouthed guards behind her joke meaninglessly over some helpless girl. To divert her attention to something else, _anything_ else, she looked to the front of the hall where the curtains were being opened. The trumpets sounded and the King's mother was relieved, for this drowned out the talking of the obnoxious guards. Lifting up her goblet of wine, she took a glance at who was behind the curtain and almost splashed her wine over her silver, silk dress. Could it be? Lorelai Gilmore back from the dead? _I thought I had eliminated her once and for all, _the King's mother thought. _How in the world did she manage to survive that beheading?_

* * * * *

As Rory stepped carefully down each step of the podium she was on, she felt the gentle swish of the red curtain on her hand. Swallowing nervously, she was glad that Tristan held her hand in his, and even though she would never admit it, she needed his strength. Walking down a steep-stepped podium in a delicate dress with a thousand people watching you with small beady eyes, waiting for you to trip and fall or do something just as embarrassing, was no light matter. 

Tristan could feel the thief's hand shake in his and was slightly amused. Looking out confidently to the audience of nobles and guards, he saw his mother glaring back at him, her mouth pulled tight. Tristan visibly paled. What was it that he had done this time? His mother was angry, very angry. He could tell by the way the goblet was shaking in her hand; by the way her merciless gaze pierced him. Wait, not _him_, but the beautiful thief that was standing next to him. Now Tristan had to wonder, as his body moved into an automatic bow that he had practised hundreds of times, what did his mother have against this thief? Turning to face her, more to probe his memory than of formal etiquette, he bowed towards her and smiled slightly as she tried to curtsey back at him. He caught her blue eyes, and then something similar to a memory, but not quite, flashed in his mind. Of a girl with deep blue eyes watching him at his father's funeral procession. It wasn't an image, more of a remembrance of a feeling. And then, even further back in time, he remembered a little girl's mother being executed, both mother and daughter having stunning blue eyes. What was their family name again? Giled, Gilles, Gilmore.

he murmured out loud and then brown haired thief immediately turned to him as if responding to her name. When he just stared at her she glared and looked away. Hmm this was something to think about, something to do with the Gilmores and his mother. 

Marcus' curt voice interrupted his thoughts, as he announced the proceedings for tonight's gathering. Tristan was to step to the left, his courtier to the right (consequently next to the Duke), and the crowning ceremony should begin! There was a blare of trumpets and a string of high-pitched flute notes. Tristan stood forward while Rory took a seat next to the Duke. She almost admired his confidence, is unwavering nerve to stand up in front of a thousand beady-eyed spectators. Sitting back, Rory watched the ceremony proceed 

* * * * *

****

****

A new king's coronation is a grand thing, but it is an even grander event when the king is your son. Yet the King's mother's eyes were not on her handsome, blonde haired son, but on the lady sitting rather shyly on the right, next to that annoyingly fat duke. On the outside, her body was stiff and composed as usual, but on the inside she was a confused wreck. Lorelai Gilmore, back from the dead? She had to see Marcus about this, immediately 

* * * * *

Rory yawned, and wondered just how long a coronation ceremony took. She was tired of listening to Marcus carry on in his annoyingly superior voice, tired of watching the King's blonde head bob in acknowledgement at all the appropriate times, tired of the entire crowd watching her like she had three heads, she was just tired of everything. She began to wonder why they couldn't just slam the crown on his head and get it over and done with. 

Why did I even come here? she asked herself, seriously regretting supporting this whole idea of stealing the crown jewels.

Ah, don't be discouraged just yet, pretty lady, The Duke next to her had overheard her rhetorical question. That king needs someone to stand by him, through thick and thin, even through boring coronation ceremonies.

I'm sure he's got lots of servants to stand by him and suck up to him all the waking hours of his life, Rory complained. 

Being a king isn't what you're thinking. Everything isn't handed to you on a silver platter- in fact things are the opposite. The king serves the people. The Duke looked at Rory with his curiously green eyes. And plus, who needs enemies when you have royal advisors like Marcus. He added with a half-smile.

That part about Marcus is true, Rory admitted. But still, why does the king have to be so Rory groped for the word.

The Duke supplied kindly. Yes, I suppose he is, but that's what he's supposed to be, isn't it? You'd criticise him if he was anything else but a king, wouldn't you? he added meaningfully. Rory got the feeling that the Duke wasn't all as flustered as he looked, and that there was more than a spark of intelligence in that chubby head of his. 

But still Rory objected, automatically trying to win the argument. He could do a better job at being king 

And you could do better than him? The Duke asked. Rory, caught off guard, thought fast.

I don't know, I guess I've never tried. She said, finally.

Believe me, you don't want to. The Duke said matter-of-factly. I've seen the stress that he goes through everyday, and the loneliness. He locks himself in his study for hours on end, alone. His own mother doesn't spend more than an hour with him a week. These past three years he's been studying at Marcus' smaller castle near the coast, with Marcus as his personal tutor. No wonder the boy's not perfect, but if you ask me the boy's doing a hell of a good job considering the circumstances. 

Rory was silent for a long while. Then she looked up at the Duke and smiled. she said. You've given me a lot to think about. 

Turning towards where the king was standing, she noticed that Marcus had finally put the actual crown on the king's head. She noticed how tall the king stood, how proud. As she watched him she wondered how hard it must be to be a king, and now had a different view on the royal monarchy. 

Maybe they aren't all that bad, she concluded to herself.

When the official ceremony ended at the party began, the king turned to Rory, after seeing that Marcus was immersed in deep conversation with his mother. Grimacing visibly, he told her to stay where she was and that he'd be right back, and hurried off to separate the two conspirators. Rory walked off to the side of the wall a little bit, tired of all the half-glances the nobles were giving her, and waited patiently for the king to finish whatever he was doing, keeping Jess in mind. Someone clothed in black reached out and tapped her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and turned around to see Mitch! 

Good evening, pretty miss, said Mitch, pretending that they were meeting for the first time. Only his eyes betrayed him. May you honour me in a dance.

Rory smiled a sufficiently shy smile, in case any eagle-eyed nobles were watching. she said, holding out one delicate hand. Mitch took it lightly and led her to the centre of the hall where a group of young nobles had started gracefully sweeping across the ground, swaying to the beautiful music that was being performed. Mitch, putting his right hand lightly on Rory's waste and his left hand in her right, he began to dance with her, slowly, until she picked up the gist of the dance. Rory was surprised at Mitch's dancing ability.

And where did you pick up such a talent for dancing? she asked innocently. 

That, my good lady, is a secret, he winked. Then leaning forward, he murmured, How is your good _brother_? 

He's in _big trouble _after losing my new silk stocking. _All his friends are too_. They were all in it together. Rory replied hoping that Mitch was getting her message. 

* * * * *

After Tristan had split up his mother and Marcus, he took a casual glance at where that pretty, brown haired thief was supposed to be waiting. She wasn't there. Cursing under his breath he felt cold sweat breaking out on his face, and knew that if he didn't find her he would be in trouble, big trouble. Quickly scanning the hall, though, he found that his worries were meaningless. That thief was dancingwith a palace guard! Tristan felt something close to jealousy surge up inside of him. She could be graced with the company of the king, but instead she chose a lowly palace guard? Well, he'd put a stop to that! 

As he strode towards her, he saw the two get closer and closer, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. He tried to hide his disgust, and tapped the guard on the shoulder.

Duty calls, he said simply. Get out of here and do your job.

The guard levelled the king's gaze. Yes, _your majesty_, he said icily, and stormed off, a big mass of muscle. Rory glared at him.

You didn't have to be so rude, she complained.

I told you to stay where you were. Tristan reprimanded her harshly, and patted his sword hilt. I call the shots. And then, without warning, he swept her into his arms and began to dance. Rory looked around and realised that people were beginning to stare. 

Why do we have to dance? Rory said, wanting to just disappear into the shadows like she normally would have.

I have to dance as king, and if I don't dance with you I can't keep you in my sight. Tristan explained. Rory frowned, and concentrated on the ground. As much as she didn't want to, she found that the king was an extraordinarily _good_ dancer, and she was enjoying the dancing. The two flowed, they just matched each other. But she would _not_ look into those blue-green eyes, she would _not_ feel the pity she felt for him when she was talking to the Duke, she would _not_ begin to like the king who threatened to kill her. 

But, even Rory had to admit, the ground was not a very amusing thing to look at, especially when you were in the strong arms of a superb dancer. So, eventually she looked up, and her deep blue eyes found that his blue-green eyes were gazing down on her, watching her every mood, not with the calculating, cold gaze of an attacker, but the slightly amazed and appreciative gaze of someone falling in love. Rory mentally shook herself, but could not look away from the king's eyes. She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like without the current circumstances. If she wasn't a thief and he wasn't a king and that her friends were held prisoners somewhere in the same castle. What would she feel like? She had a glimpse of the warmth in her heart, the shiver up her spine, and butterflies in her stomach. If she let the feeling completely take over, where would she find herself?

You still haven't told me your name, he murmured.

she said softly, as the song ended on the most perfect note.

Rory felt like she was a princess out of a fairytale. He she was, a peasant, a thief, a swindler, dancing with the king. But something brought her back to reality. The sound she was waiting for and yet dreading at the same time- the sound of someone drawing their sword. Nervously, Rory turned around and saw what she feared most to see- the sight of Marcus holding his sword, the razor sharp tip dangerously close to Mitch's heart. 

He's one of them, Marcus hissed, and Rory's heart fell. Their last hope was gone. 


	8. Escape into Exile

**Title**: A Thousand Miles 

**Author**: ButteR 

**Chapter**: Eight - Escape into Exile 

**Disclaimer**: I don't know, I just like writing the word 'disclaimer'. Um, I own Marcus, Mitch, Jon, Charles, and Richard. That's about it I think, well from this chapter anyway. 

**A/N**: hey! Back again! I hope you like this chapter I tried to make it extra exciting and interesting. Sorry if some find it a little violent, it's got a bit of fighting in it, but it isn't that bad. And sorry that I took so long, but I hope you like this chapter! Thanks for all your reviews!!! I really appreciate them. Oh yeah, and I've changed my email so check my profile if you want to email me to ask about the fic or something. Whatever suits. R/r please, I love your feedback you're all so nice! ^.^ -ButteR

Escape into Exile

The walk back to the room where the crown jewels had been held was awkward and uncomfortable. Tristan had been obligated to lead Rory by knifepoint, while just a few footsteps behind; Mitch's life was on the brink of annihilation if Marcus happened to so much as 'slip'. The guards surrounded them, their dangerous presence adding to the aura of discomfort, and presence of the king's mother, walking smartly in front of Rory with a permanent smirk fixed on her face, just added to the strangeness of the situation, since she barely let her hawk-like eyes leave Tristan and Rory. 

Rory felt tears well up in her eyes. The feeling of adrenaline was all but gone, leaving her tired and frustrated, and that weird, floating feeling that she got from dancing with the King now seemed like a dream that she had woken up from, to find that she was in a world enclosed in fear. Rory's thoughts slowly shifted to Jess, Charles, Jon and Richard. She wondered if they were going to be killed. Just the thought of Jess lying lifeless on the ground made her shudder involuntary. _I'll just make them kill me, if they have to kill anyone,_ Rory thought to herself. _I don't mind dying. At least I could be with my mom… _

But Rory knew that it was a lie. Although Rory wanted nothing more than to be with her mom, she now had something worth living for. She had found something worth fighting for. Sookie and Jackson alone were a good enough reason to try to stay alive, but she actually had something worth defending- her friends. She wasn't going to give up her life just like that. She was going to fight with everything she had. Her knew resolution hardened her, although she still felt nervous. 

Marcus pushed his way past Rory and Tristan, sword still pressed against Mitch's chest. Violently kicking the door opened, Rory let out a small gasp as she saw her friends inside. Charles was lying on the floor in an unhealthy manner, facedown, his arm twisted painfully at a strange angle behind his back. Jon was still knocked out, and now purple and blue bruises ran across both temples. Richard had blood pouring out of a large gash in his side; he was doubled over in defeat. But worst of all was Jess. Jess was sitting against a wall, dry blood all over his face. His arms lay limply at his sides. His eyes were open, but portrayed only the slightest glimmer of recognition as he caught sight of Rory. The king's guard were standing dutifully around the room, but the blood on their fists and on their swords was the telltale sign that they had been the ones who had inflicted the awful pain on Rory's friends. All at once her anger flared up again, but she didn't have either the will or the physical strength or both to let it out. All she could do was glare with her eyes. 

Marcus released Mitch from knifepoint, and thrust him against a wall. Mitch hit the wall head first, and groaned with pain. Rory felt her body tense up, ready to shout out, but Tristan suddenly gripped Rory's arm. She glared daggers at him. 

"Don't make me hurt you," he whispered, his lips almost not moving, and his eyes pleading. It took every ounce of self-control that she had not to whip out and lash her vicious words at the King, but she bit her tongue and remained silent. 

Marcus appeared to be deep in thought. Glancing at Rory thoughtfully, with an evil glimmer in his eyes, he motioned Tristan to let go of her. He obliged, a little unwillingly, Rory thought. "Go join your vermin friends," Marcus snarled in her direction, and Rory hurried over to Jess, trying to see if he was okay. 

Marcus watched Rory's feeble attempts at getting Jess to respond, but when Jess just stared at her numbly, Marcus let out something which Rory interpreted as a laugh. She ignored him and shook Jess' hand a little despairingly. 

"Jess!" she whispered, and her voice quivered as she felt a small tear slide down her cheek. "Jess, are you okay?" 

Richard painstakingly limped over to where Rory was crouched over Jess, leaving a trail of blood from the wound in his side. Grimacing, he somehow managed to put a reassuring hand on Rory's shoulder, though it stained her lovely gown with blood. Rory didn't care. Turning around, her gaze met Richard's, and she fell into his firm, comforting, reassuring embrace, like the way one would find comfort in the presence of their father or older brother. She dissolved into tears, and Richard gently stroked her hair, comforting her like he would comfort a small child. 

"Jess will be all right," he murmured in her ear. "I'm _sure _of it." 

Rory stopped crying immediately and looked sharply up at Richard, her eyes rimmed with red and her cheeks wet. Wiping away her tears, she was struck by a sudden suspicion. Was Jess just _feigning_? Rory struggled to overcome a sudden desire to slap Jess across the face just to make sure. Her suspicions were confirmed when Richard winked at her and grinned, and she caught a quick mischievous glint in his eye. Hiding her own grin by once more burying her head into Richard's shoulder, she caught a quick glimpse of the king, and was surprised to find him staring at her. She held his gaze for a second and looked away. 

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ 

Tristan's breath caught sharply in his throat. He had spent an uncountable amount of time, it seemed, watching that beautiful thief. Rory. What a name. Shaking himself mentally, he quickly reminded his heart, which was beating almost violently in his chest, that she was beautiful yes, but she was also a thief. A thief that, as the King, he had to condemn. Tristan had been chewing over this problem for a while, and had still come to no suitable conclusion. He knew that whatever punishment the thieves would receive lay on him to decide, and it he knew that Marcus wanted them dead. Tristan didn't really think that their crime deserved death, but he knew that Marcus would take it out of his mother if he were displeased. He couldn't help feeling apprehensive, too. Could he do it? Could he put the death penalty on the thieves?

Swallowing hard, he felt a painful pang in his heart as he saw Rory dissolve into tears and throw herself into the arms of a handsome looking commoner, with blonde hair and strong arms; strong arms that were stroking Rory's hair gently. His lips leant over and whispered in Rory's ear, making her smile. Tristan felt a twisting feeling in his stomach- jealousy. How dare he comfort her so? They were both at his mercy! They should be grovelling at his feet! Not comforting each other, lying in each other's arms, smiling and exchanging sweet nothings! All of a sudden Tristan knew that he could kill them, both of them, all of them. He could and he would.

But then he caught Rory staring at _him_, her blue eyes probing and slightly surprised. Mesmerised by her blue eyes, he felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he realised that her attention was on him. He levelled his blue grey eyes with her sky blue ones for a single moment, and then turned away.

It was in that moment that he realised that he wouldn't _ever _be able to kill her, or hurt her, which meant that he couldn't kill any of her friends. Tristan couldn't understand it. Why would he care about not hurting a commoner, a peasant, a thief? He had barely spoken of her. He wasn't aware of her existence until that very night, and yet she had changed him in a way he despised. One word echoed through his mind: _fate. _It was fate. Simply fate.

He couldn't kill them. He had to defend them from Marcus. Marcus could probably kill half the people in the room and frame it on one of the thieves. If it was Tristan's word against Marcus, Marcus would definitely win, being the sly faced, smooth talking, evil eyed villain that he was. Tristan raised his hand and placed it inconspicuously, yet firmly, on his sword hilt. Marcus glanced at Tristan, and in one giant leap of understanding, he saw whose side Tristan had taken. Snarling, he unsheathed his own sword, Tristan just a moment behind him. It was now a race, a contest. Who was faster, Marcus conniving to kill, or Tristan struggling to save?

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Rory knew as soon as the king placed his hand on his sword hilt. He was going to kill them. So much for feeling sorry for the king, Rory thought bitterly as she briefly recalled her memory of her and the Duke's conversation. Richard knew too. Rory felt his muscles tense, waiting for a fight. He slipped something into Rory's hand. It was a dagger hilt. Rory smiled at him gratefully. Her smile turned into a worried frown as she saw Tristan and Marcus exchange glances, and they drew their swords almost in unison. Rory shivered, disgusted.

In one swift movement Marcus made his way across the room, charging directly at Mitch. Mitch ducked, and used his burly fists to punch at Marcus' stomach. Tristan was running over to Rory, but Richard and Jess stood in front of her, Jess having two sharp blades in his hands and Richard a large, thin needle used for gutting fish. He ignored them, and his eyes caught Rory's. He only said one word.

"Run."

Then he turned his back and starting fighting off the guards that had began to surrounded Rory, Jess and Richard. Rory, too surprised to move at first, started sprinting when Jess shouted out at her, stabbing a guard's wrist on her way and making him drop his sword. Following Jess' lead she ran towards the largest window, right at the back of the room, which seemed to take up most of the wall. Mitch and Charles caught up, Mitch with Jon slung over his shoulder. As they reached the window, Marcus growled and leaped, unleashing his furious rampage on poor Charles, who only had a small knife to fight with. The king, seeing what was going on, ran quickly over to Marcus but was slowed down by several guards whom he struggled to fight off. Charles cried out for help, and Jess speared Marcus' right arm with a small spear, but it did no good. Marcus was using a double-sided sword, so he simply switched hands. Charles made a few small thrusts, but he was no match for the skill of fury of Marcus. Tripping over he fell back, and Marcus aimed for a lethal thrust in his heart. He moved backwards quickly, but not quick enough. The blow caught him on his upper thighs, slitting both bottom halves of his leg off. He cried out, an animal shriek in the night. Rory turned away at the sight of blood spurting, and Jess gripped her hand tightly. Marcus raised his sword for one killing blow, but then Tristan came. Rory, not watching, heard the sound of swords hitting and striking, groans from both males. Richard quickly grabbed Charles, more blood spilling on his already blood splattered clothes. Mitch let Jon down for a moment to defend the rest from the bulk of the guards as Jess pushed them all towards the window.

"Jump!" he yelled.

"Are you crazy?" Rory shrieked back, tears pouring down her cheeks, 

"Yes!" Jess retorted, with a shadow of a grin, and grabbed Rory's waste, jumping out of the window himself. Rory held onto Jess and shut her eyes, feeling herself fall through the air. She could hear Richard holding Charles, and Mitch holding Jon doing the same. Wincing and waiting for the impact of the ground, she held Jess close and felt him do the same. 

But instead of smashing into the hard, grassy ground like she was expecting, she smashed into something soft and deep which smelled like horses. It was straw. Piles and piles of straw! Holding Jess close for a second, breathing in and out, relieved, she struggled to get out of the hay. 

Hoping down from the large mass, she saw that Jess was already down and rounding up horses, which were frolicking around the thieves, as if wondering where the obtrusive humans had come from, and what right they had in interrupting the horses' evening meal. Jess soon had the animals organised, and helped Rory up on a black, silky horse. He got on behind her. Looking around, Rory saw that Jon was strewn over Mitch's back, on the back of a light chestnut coloured horse, while Charles was clutching painfully onto Richard, who mounted a strangely oak coloured horse, blood streaming everywhere. Jess gently pressed his heels into the horse's side, making the horse start up into a slow canter. She heard Mitch and Richard do the same, and prayed that Charles would make it, that he would still be alive when they reached Ronald at the hideout. As they passed the castle grounds and started moving into a large field, Rory looked back at the large window that they had jumped from. Straining her eyes she thought she could see the glint of metal against metal, and for the first time wondered if the king was okay. The horses soon broke into a steady gallop, and Rory closed her eyes against the wind, letting the tears fall silently. 

"Hey, what's that matter?" Jess asked quietly, his voice tired but concerned. 

"Everything," Rory muttered. 

"Care to elaborate?" he said gently. 

"Don't you see? It's all my fault. If I had just listened to Mitch, if I didn't convince everyone to go, if I was more careful…" Rory trailed off, her voice too unstable for her to control. She held back a desire to sob into the horse's silky main. 

"…If I hadn't suggested this in the first place," Jess said lightly. "Nothing would have happened. Nothing. So _technically_ it's my fault." 

"Trying to shift the blame off my shoulders doesn't help," Rory sniffed. 

"Beating your self up about it doesn't help either," Jess pointed out. Rory was silent. Jess watched her. She looked so sad and miserable, her back to him, the moonlight lighting up her hair. He knew she was crying silently, even though she gave no sign that she was. Almost not able to help himself, he wrapped his arms around her and let her cry in his arms. He usually was not the sentimental type, but he'd make an exception for Rory. He always made an exception for Rory. 

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ 

Rory was awoken by Jess' gentle shakes. They were outside the hideout. She noticed with cold horror that Charles was making no noise now. He could be dead, but Jess just told her that he probably just fainted because of loss of blood. Jon was still out, too, and this was almost too much for her to bear. Two of her brothers were almost on the brink of death.

Jess motioned for the others to be silent and went in first to make sure it was safe. Their hideout was located in a bookshop, of all places. Jess said that it was because it was the most unlikely place to find a hideout, but Rory secretly thought it was just because Jess liked to read, and to _buy_ a book was very expensive. 

As soon as Jess opened the door to the store he froze. "_Shit_." 

Mitch, Richard and Rory looked up in surprise. Jess bolted out of the store, and leaped back onto his horse, hissing to the others to do the same. As soon as he made sure everyone was mounted, he galloped away, Rory at the back this time, holding onto his waste tightly. 

"What is it?" she whispered. 

"The bookshop. It was all messed up. And the shelf, it was slashed, like someone had tried to open it. I think it was the palace guards." Jess whispered back, shuddering. Rory knew that that was not all, though. She knew Jess pretty well and could tell when he was holding back. 

"What else is it?" she said softly, trying to control the fear in her voice. Jess stared glassily ahead. 

"Ronald's walking stick. Covered in blood. Broken…" was all he managed to get out. It was enough. It was too much. Rory was now beyond crying. She just stared at the ground as the horse galloped, lifeless, spent. She suddenly thought of Sookie and Jackson, and wondered if they were safe. If something happened to them… Rory didn't know what she'd do. 

"Where are we going?" Mitch's rough voice said, breaking the uncomfortable silence between the four, and sided his horse with Jess'. 

"I have an uncle," Jess said, his voice suddenly business-like. "He's a farmer. He lives on the outskirts of this secluded town. I don't see him much but I think we can stay at his place until we figure something else out. He's a bit of a loner." 

"What's his name?" Rory asked, intrigued. She never thought of Jess having any family. He never talked about them if he did. 

"Luke." 


	9. Keeping Secrets

A/n: here it is! Chapter nine! Yay! This chapter is kind of long and drags on a bit but I think it gets better towards the end. Um…yeah, and the good thing about it is that it has given me heaps of ideas for how to write the next couple of chapters, so the good thing about that is that the chapters will probably come quicker! Thanks for all your great reviews! I really appreciate them! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next couple are coming along very soon, so look out for them! 

**Keeping Secrets **

Luke stumbled up out of his bed, groggy-eyed. Practically staggering to the door, which was, luckily, only a few feet away, he opened it, wondering who the hell would be outside in the dark of the night. Yet, when he opened the rickety wooden door, he was barely surprised to find his nephew, the infamous thief Jess, standing outside. Luke could have almost laughed. Who else would be knocking on his door at such a rude hour, after running away five years ago and not contacting him since? Jess, of course. What did surprise Luke was that Jess looked worried, afraid even. Now that was a new emotion to be seen on the face of the most vicious cutthroat on this side of the kingdom. 

"Jess! What are you doing here?" Luke hissed, half angry, half curious, and more than a little concerned, even though he would rather be boiled alive than admit it. 

"I need your help." Jess said solemnly. Luke started. Jess _never_ asked for help. He was a rodent, a cockroach even, a survivor who slipped into cracks and crevices at the first sign of trouble, who abandoned all family and friends to save his own neck, who never called in favours for the fear of having to pay them back. 

"Please," Jess' voice interrupted Luke's thoughts. "My friends need help." 

It was then that Luke realised that Jess was not alone. Looking over Jess' shoulder he got his second shock for the night. Behind Jess, Luke's eyes skimmed over two men mounted on a chestnut horse, one of them unconscious, another two men on an oak coloured horse, one spilling blood from the loss of two limbs, and a girl with brown straight hair and scared, blue eyes. It was the girl that caught his attention. She looked so much like…no; it couldn't be…yet they looked so similar. 

"Lorelai…?" Luke whispered, surprised to find that his own voice, usually so unemotional and rough, had gone shaky. 

The girl swung her head immediately in his direction, her eyes bright and attentive, like someone turning around when they hear their name called. 

"Um, Luke?" Jess intervened flatly. "That's Rory. Who's Lorelai?" 

"Lorelai's my name." Rory said, her voice musical and quiet. It was also a little unsure. 

"But I thought…" Jess exclaimed, but Rory cut him off. 

"Rory's just a nickname. Lorelai's my full name. Lorelai Gilmore. But…" she trailed off, staring straight at Luke. He stared back at her, trying to read her eyes. Jess paled slightly, and swallowed, but neither Rory nor Luke noticed. 

"…Lorelai was also your mother's name." He finished for her. 

Jess stared from Rory to Luke in frustration- he was not used to be left out of things. He was used to being the ringleader, the centre of attention, as authority flowed through him, powerful and energising. 

"We don't have enough time for small talk, folks," Jess proclaimed loudly. "We do have wounded people here. Will you help us?" Jess directed this question at Luke, but Luke hardly glanced at him; he was still staring spellbound at Rory. 

"Sure…bring her…" He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. "I mean bring them inside. There's not much room but…but…" he paused, stifling a yawn. "The legless boy can go in my room. The unconscious one can go on the wooden dining table. The rest of you will have to sleep on the floor tonight." Luke was fully awake now. "I'll go get the Healing lady." 

Luke headed outside the door, but Jess stopped him, grabbing his arm sharply. Luke was surprised to see how strong Jess had become. "Wait. This healing woman, can she be trusted?" 

"Of course she can!" Luke fumed. When Jess stared, unsatisfied, Luke realised that he was expected to give something along the lines of a dossier about the lady. "Her name's Ms Patty. You don't remember her because she came a year after you left. She travelled around with vagabonds most of her life, leaving her a little…um…eccentric, but she's the closest thing to a professional we've got." 

Jess still looked unimpressed. "Isn't there anyone else? I don't like the sound of this Patty woman." 

"That's Ms Patty, to you." Luke said roughly. There was no way he was going to let his nephew undermine his authority! "She's all I can afford. I'm not exactly a noble, if you haven't noticed." 

Jess looked at the old shack Luke slept in. There were several holes in the roof where the hay thatching had fallen in, and the walls were slowly disintegrating. The land around the house was surrounded by dry, brown grass and there was not an animal in sight. "Okay…" Jess said finally, shaking his hand absently. "Get this Patty woman and get her quick." 

As Luke rushed of, Jess turned around and started rapping out orders. "Mitch, get Jon on to that table then help Richard out with Charles." Jess turned as if to stride into Luke's hut, but Rory interrupted him. 

"What about me?" she asked. 

"Just sit back and relax, _Lorelai_. Do whatever you want." Jess said coldly, and without turning around to face her, strode into the darkness of the hut. Rory just stared after him, hurt clear on her face. Mitch rested a bloody hand on her shoulder, and she looked up with him. 

"Don't worry about Jess," Mitch rumbled. "He's just been through a lot. I reckon its all just catching up with him. Nothing personal." When Rory just stared at the spot Jess had stood, Mitch cleared his throat. "C'mon, give me a hand with Jon…" 

* 

Luke came panting back a couple of minutes later, dragging behind him a fat woman with bronze red hair and heavy eyelids. She was dressed in dark purple floaty material and she smelt like crushed garlic, rose petals and strong liquor. Jess, who was sitting next to Richard, wrinkled his nose in disgust, but Rory rather liked the smell. It gave her a strange sense of familiarity. Rory was sitting across from Jess, with her head on Mitch's shoulder. Mitch's eyes were dark and worried, hovering over the bleeding form of Charles. 

"Can you help him?" Luke asked, motioning in Charles' direction. The lady who was supposedly named Ms Patty gave a high-pitched shriek, and all the thieves who were able to jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. 

"What is it?" Jess demanded, but Ms Patty's face had gone blank. Rory gazed at the lady, trying to recall some long lost memory. 

"Put your swords away. Put them away!" Luke was saying, motioning for them to sheath their weapons. The thieves obliged. "She does this all the time," Luke explained. "She thinks it's _dramatic_." 

Rory continued staring at the lady, watching her hum, a deep melodious sound. "His life force grows weak…" her voice wavered for a moment. "But this child can be spared." Suddenly Ms Patty's eyes snapped open and she whipped around to face Rory. "Wait outside, for what I am about to for take is not suitable for your eyes, little miss." 

Rory didn't even want to think about what Ms Patty was going to do. She exited the hut as quickly as possible, hearing the sound of Ms Patty's voice behind her. "Now, I'm going to need some help…" 

But Rory was distracted by the sound of footfalls behind her. She whipped around, ready for an attack, but it was needless- her follower was none other than Jess' uncle, Luke. 

"Hello," was all he said. 

"Hello…" Rory echoed, unsure of how to act. This man had known her mother before…before it happened. 

"You look exactly like her," Luke said, stepping forward and reading her facial expression. "Like your mother, I mean." 

"That's what Sookie always says," Rory smiled, trying to be polite. 

"Ah, that's right, you live with Sookie and Jackson now, don't you?" Luke relaxed against a deteriorating wall of his hut. 

Rory's ears perked up. "What, you know them?" 

"Yeah, back when your mother was young, we were all hired servants for the Gilmore family." Luke said. "Sookie was the cook, obviously, and Jackson was the supplier. That much you must have known already." Rory nodded. 

"What were you?" she asked, curious now. 

"I was…I…was…" Luke shifted uncomfortably against his portion of the wall. "I was the butler." 

"What?!" Rory laughed out loud. "No offence, Sir Luke, but I can't imagine you as a butler." 

"Luke, please, just Luke." He told her. "Is it really that hard to believe?" 

Rory shrugged. "Well, it's a little strange to believe that a butler to a noble family ended up as a lone farmer living in a broken down hut on the outskirts of town…" Rory said smartly. 

"Well, it wouldn't it be equally unbelievable that the only Gilmore heiress is a thief alongside the nephew of her family's old butler?" Luke rebutted just as smoothly. Rory laughed. 

"I guess," she said, giving in. "I never thought of it that way before." 

Luke smiled. Rory smiled. There was a silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. 

"You should come and see Sookie and Jackson sometime," Rory offered. "They'd be delighted." 

"Um…perhaps…" Luke said, and suddenly his face darkened. "On second thoughts, it may not be a good idea." 

"Why not?" Rory probed, surprised at Luke's sudden change of attitude. 

"Nothing." He said a little too quickly. "It's just that I don't think they'd be too happy to see me." 

"Why not?" Rory repeated, stubbornly. 

"No reason. It's ancient history." Luke dismissed it with a wave of hand, a characteristic gesture that Rory saw often on Jess. As Rory's thoughts drifted to Jess, he emerged through the doorway to Luke's hut, as if on queue. 

"Luke? That Patty lady wants her herbal bag," Jess said shortly, eying Luke and Rory resentfully. Confusion dominated Rory's thoughts. Luke sensed Jess' hostility as well. 

"I'll get it," he offered, walking away, leaving Jess and Rory alone. As soon as Luke was out of hearing range Rory drowned Jess in questions. 

"Jess, what's the matter?" she asked. "You've been acting strange ever since we got here." 

When he didn't reply, she moved forward. "Come on, it's me. You can tell me anything." 

Jess looked up at Rory from his feet and she was surprised to find pain in his eyes; she was expecting anger. "I didn't know your mother was Lorelai Gilmore," he finally admitted. 

"So?" Rory said. "What does that matter? I already told you that I was a Gilmore, where'd you think I came from?" 

"Someone else besides Lorelai..." He said sourly. "I don't study the family trees of nobles, sorry if it doesn't interest me" 

"Well I don't go around telling people about my family history. You knew I was a Gilmore, that's it, right? You probably didn't know that I watched my mother when she was beheaded." Jess winced. Rory had never talked about her mother's death very much, all she talked about was wanting to find more information out about her. Rory hadn't even told Jess her mother's name. All Jess had known was that her last name was Gilmore. But now that he found out she was _Lorelai_ Gilmore, he suddenly knew a whole lot more.

Rory was starting to get angry. "Why do you care so much anyway?" 

"Because…because if I knew I wouldn't have brought you here." Jess muttered. 

"Why not?" Rory answered. Jess reddened around the ears and looked to his feet. 

"Uh…n…n…no reason…" Jess stammered. "Forget I said anything." 

Rory was taken aback. Jess, the smooth talker, the quick thinker, the most dedicated liar, stuttering? 

"It's something about my mother, isn't it?" Rory said. "Luke wouldn't tell me either. You and Luke know something about my mother! Tell me." 

It wasn't a request- it was a command. Jess shifted uncomfortably where he stood, and a long silence passed between them. After what seemed like ages, Jess looked up at Rory apologetically. "I can't," he whispered. 

Rory's face hardened. Jess was one of her most very best friends in the world, like a brother to her, but she couldn't help being angry with him. He knew something about her mother; he was hiding something from her, something that she deserved to know. 

* 

Tristan was a pretty good swordsman- even he had to admit. But even so, it was a challenge for him to take on Marcus, especially Marcus with his temper up. So when Marcus launched his furious tirade on Tristan it didn't take long for Tristan's expert eye in swordsmanship to see that he didn't stand a chance, not when the opponent held no value to honour, and no heart for mercy. So Tristan had to play his final, and most powerful card. He dropped his sword. 

"Marcus. I demand you to stop!" he yelled out in a harsh voice. Marcus' lip curled into a sly grin, and advanced on Tristan. Tristan sighed, and hoped his idea would work. 

"Guards, seize him! He disobeyed my direct order!" Tristan motioned for the head of the guards to start organising his men. To be perfectly honest Tristan wasn't sure if it would work- the guards had always followed Marcus' command, because Marcus usually spoke on behalf of the king. He had no idea how far Marcus had brainwashed them, or where their loyalties would lie if they had to choose between the king, or the king's uncle. 

"Get back, you idiots!" Marcus spat, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. The guards teetered on the edge of insecurity for a moment, and then their eyes hardened. They were the king's guard after all, and someone was endangering the life of their king! They started to move towards Marcus. Marcus, seeing that he was already defeated, dropped his sword at Tristan's feet. 

"Forgive me, your majesty," he said, kneeling. Tristan looked coldly down at Marcus, as if for the first time seeing what he truly was. 

"We'll talk about this later." Tristan said in a very formal way, and walked out of the room, relieved to be rid of Marcus' presence. Then he began to wonder about where that pretty thief Rory, and all her friends were. He wondered if the injured boy had escaped. He hoped so. He wondered if he'd ever see the girl again. He knew he would. If he was paying more attention to the voices behind him, back in the room, and wasn't so involved in his own thoughts, though, he would have noticed Marcus whispering something in the head guard's ear, and handing him a small pouch of gold… 

* 

Rory furiously stamped through Luke's wheat fields as the afternoon sun drifted across the blue sky. What was it that Jess wouldn't tell her? She was so angry and deep in thought that she didn't see the figure heading straight towards her. The figure didn't seem to see her to, because his sight was slightly obscured by the tall wooden crates he was carrying. So they both collided, caught off guard. 

"Ouch!" Rory cried out as she fell to the ground, grazing her elbow. She was still a little sore from the events of the previous night. 

"Oomph!" The figure moaned from under the crates. Various vegetables toppled out of the now-broken crates, to lay around the figure in a bright assortment of colours. Rory quickly got to her feet and lifted the crates off the figure, slowly so that she wouldn't hurt him. It was pretty easy for a thief. 

Underneath the shards of the would-be crates was a boy around the same age as Rory. He had dark brown hair and brown, shadowed eyes. He was slightly more musclier than Jess, Rory noted, and was now looking at her as if he couldn't decide whether to get angry at her or to ask her for her name and compliment her on her eyes. 

"Hi…" he finally said, a little tentatively. 

"Hello…" Rory slowly responded, unsure of how to act towards him. "Sorry for bumping into you like that, I had my mind on other things." 

"No, it was my fault too," the boy said politely. "I should've been more careful." 

Rory smiled. "I'm Rory," she introduced herself. 

The boy's face broke into a friendly grin. "My name's Dean. Are you from around here?" 

Rory shook her head. "I'm just visiting Luke with some friends. How about you?" 

Dean shrugged. "I work for farmer Luke, delivering his vegetables and livestock to the markets. He doesn't get out much." 

"I noticed," Rory laughed, her eyes twinkling. She had almost forgotten what it was like to have a conversation that did not involve thieves. It was strangely- uplifting. "Were you on your way to the markets just now?" she asked. 

Dean nodded. "But I guess now I'll have to go back and get some more crates." He sighed resignedly, but Rory gave him a small smile and knelt down beside the broken crates. 

"No need for that," she told him. "I can fix them." 

"But…there's nothing here except broken lengths of wood! It's practically useless." 

"I'm resourceful," Rory said shortly, and to the amazement of Dean, managed to fix two of the three broken crates by using nothing more than her bare hands and stray scraps of wood. 

"See…" she was telling him. "If you push this piece of wood in here, it makes sure that these other two pieces don't fall. And you put this strong one underneath for extra support." 

Dean watched her, awestruck. "Where'd you learn that?" 

"I learnt it from a friend" she said modestly, and immediately thought of Jess. To distract her, she helped Dean pick up the vegetables and put them back into the crates. Only a few were ruined. When the two crates were full, Rory offered help Dean carry the left over vegetables that were in the third crate. He accepted gratefully. 

"So where am I heading with my arms loaded with vegetables?" she asked him. 

"My cart's just at the end of this field," Dean told her. "I attach it up to a horse and ride to the market. Easy." 

"Sounds like fun," Rory said. "Can I come?" 

Dean looked at her through the crates he was holding. "Sure!" he said, eager for a companion. 

"Rory!" Rory turned to see who had called out her name. From the place she had just come from, Jess came running. "Where are you going?" 

"What if I don't want to tell you," Rory retorted, still a little bit angry at Jess. He hardened his gaze. 

"Fine. There's a meeting now. Coming?" Jess turned his back, as if confident Rory would follow. 

"No." she said firmly. Jess stopped in his tracks. 

"What?" 

"I'm already going somewhere." She said to Jess' astounded face. "You guys will just have to go on ahead without me." 

"You can't just…" Jess tried to get the words out. 

"I cant just what…?" Rory asked. "I can't just carry a stupid bunch of vegetables to a cart without your permission? Well sorry, _Your Majesty_." 

Hurt showed on Jess' face, which surprised Rory. Jess never conveyed any emotion if he could help it. She didn't really mean to be so cruel, it was just that she was having a good time with Dean, and she needed some time to think. She also felt a little betrayed. Jess knew how much she wanted to know what her mother was like, but he wouldn't tell her something that he knew. He was supposed to be her friend. 

"So you're leaving us?" Jess asked quietly. Dean didn't realise the significance of what they were saying, but Rory knew exactly what Jess was asking. 

"I'm going to the market for a while. _I'll come back_. I promise." Rory gave Jess a reassuring glance. He gave a half smile at her, although his heart was sinking slowly to the depths of the earth. He turned and made his way back to Luke's hut. 

* 

Tristan sat on his bed, his head deep in thought. He was thinking so hard that he didn't notice it at first. Not until he looked in his looking glass. At the head of his bed hung a portrait of himself- his mother had given it to him for his fourteenth birthday, and she insisted on hanging it there. He felt a cold wave of horror. Two daggers were pierced into the painting…one though his head and one through his heart. It didn't take a genius for him to realise what that meant. Someone was after _him._


	10. No One to Trust

A/n: Sorry this chapter took so long…it seriously took longer than expected! And I was going to include some more stuff…like about Tristan…but if I did the chapter would have been to long!! I hope you like this chapter anyway. And the next chapter will have lots of Tristan in it…and speaking of next chapter…it's going to be pretty long and HUGE because Rory and Tristan are going to meet…again. So don't get angry if it take even longer than usual. . thanks…I hope you enjoy this chapter! The plot thickens…

**No One to Trust **

Jess leant against a deteriorating wall of Luke's hut, his arms crossed and his jaws clenched, trying to keep a foothold on his emotions. Looking straight ahead at Luke's wide, yellowing pastures on which the three horses which he had stolen were galloping majestically, he sighed, too wrapped up in his own confusion to notice that someone had walked out of the hut and rooted their selves beside him. It was Luke. He coughed and cleared his throat to attract his younger nephew's attention. Jess slowly turned his head Luke's way.

"What?" he said through gritted teeth, glaring at his uncle for interrupting his reverie. Luke, too used to his Jess' attitude to be intimidated, gave his nephew a harsh stare in return.

"You're friends are waiting for you. A meeting of some sort…" Luke scratched the back of his head. Thieves were very complicated and confusing people with very complicated and confusing habits. It was in their nature.

"Tell them to start without me," Jess mumbled, gazing back at the horses but not really seeing them. Luke nodded slowly, as if processing Jess' response and trying to grasp the underlying meaning in it. He turned to go back into the hut, but stopped mid-step and spun back around.

"She's going to come back, you know," Luke said quietly.

"Well…I sure hope so," Jess said, turning to Luke. "Because without her we're … screwed."

"Jess, it's only one meeting," Luke interjected, spreading out his hands. "It's not like she's gone forever."

"You just don't get it!" Jess' eyes flashed dangerously. "Our meetings are important. We plan our getaways, our backup, our routes in and out, our… _survival_. If someone skips a meeting, it's like they don't want to be in on it anymore…"

"Well maybe she doesn't." Luke stated frankly.

"No, no way." Jess objected, shaking his head. "Being a thief is the best…"

"…to you," Luke intervened. "She's a sixteen year old girl, Jess. She has a family to come home to. Sookie and Jackson raised her well. She's honest, caring, compassionate, polite … do you really think someone like that would be a thief voluntarily?"

Jess thought about this. He thought about all the times Rory had shuddered and tried to avoid killings. He thought about how the only reason she agreed to be a thief was because she needed some money. But he thought about how she had changed since then. How she was quick, sharp, smart. The ideal thief. He saw the glimmer in her eye before a robbery – the excitement, the adrenaline.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said aloud to Luke.

"I know a lot more than you think." Luke argued. "Her mother- "

"- is dead." Jess cut in. "Is dead because of _you_. And now Rory is angry at me…because of _you_. And I can't ever tell her…" Jess trailed off as he caught the look on Luke's face- an ashen despairing anxiety.

"Tell her, than." Luke whispered bitterly. "Tell her if it's that important to you."

"I can't. What about you…?" Jess pointed out.

"I owe her the truth." Luke said gravely. "She deserves that, at least."

"But…" Jess began, but Luke cut him off.

"Just tell her Jess," he said loudly. "You say she's going to the market? Well, there's some pretty bad rumours flying around…close enough to the truth not to deny but changed just enough to sound worse."

Luke put a hand on Jess' shoulder and stared straight into his eyes. "I'd rather she hear it from you than from some dim witted townsperson with an ear for gossip and a careless mouth…" was his final remark, before he headed inside, leaving Jess with his own thoughts.

*

"You and that kid back there seemed pretty tense. Was everything okay?" Dean asked the brown haired, blue eyed beauty sitting on the roof of the cart next to him. He instinctively tugged on the reins of the silvery grey horse that was pulling the carriage as they came to a slight slope. Rory gave a small laugh, which made her eyes sparkle.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, smiling.

"You called _Jess_ a _kid_?" Rory shook her head, amused. "Sorry, it's just that Jess is one of the most… independent people you're going to find on this side of the kingdom…"

"You seem to know him pretty well," Dean noticed.

"Well, we've been friends for a long time," Rory remarked. "Don't worry about me and Jess. I was just a little angry at him. I'll get over it."

"Why were you angry at him…?" Dean asked probingly.

Rory glanced at Dean, suddenly suspicious as her thieving instincts kicked in. "Why do you want to know?" she asked him, giving him an amused glance in return.

"I asked first," Dean said stubbornly.

"Then answer first," Rory replied with a grin.

"Okay…" Dean said slowly. "I want to know because … because I'm curious about what would make someone as nice as you angry at someone you've been friends with for as long as you said you've been."

Rory smiled at Dean, her cheeks going red at his compliment. "I was angry at Jess because… well … he wouldn't tell me something I deserved to know."

"Is Jess your boyfriend?" Dean asked suddenly. Rory looked at him in surprise.

"…I don't have a boyfriend…" she stammered finally.

"Good." Dean whispered, bringing his face close to Rory's. Rory trembled as his hand brushed against her cheek. The cart gave a small jolt. The two moved apart immediately. Dean cursed under his breath and turned to Rory.

"Well, we're here…" he announced with some regret. Rory jumped out of the carriage quickly, unnerved by the moment between her and Dean. She landed silently, and Dean stared at her in amazement as he carefully climbed his way down.

"How'd you do that?" he asked her.

"Practise," Rory said quickly, and changed the subject. "Here, let me help you with some of those crates."

Dean stared at Rory in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you need to move the fruit to your stall?" she asked him. He laughed.

"You really don't know anything about the markets, do you?" he told her. When Rory just stared at him blankly, he tried to explain it to her. "The cart is the stall," he said, as he unbound the straps that attached the horse to the carriage, and Rory helped him tie the reins to a small, wooden signpost with letters too faded to understand. Dean went to the carriage at hit the roof hard, to Rory's surprise.

"You broke it!" she exclaimed, as the roof collapsed.

"I did not!" he laughed. "It was made to do this. See?" Dean showed Rory the extra pieces of wood inserted at various points, to force the wood to bend. "I can pull the roof back up if I wanted too."

"Look! It makes an extra compartment!" Rory pointed out, spying the place between the collapsed roof and the actual carriage bottom.

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "An old marketers trick. We never keep all our goods on the top of the stall, because otherwise the thieves would rob us of all we had. We keep at least half of the stuff underneath."

"Thieves wouldn't do that …" Rory automatically defended herself and her friends. "They're not all that bad. They mainly just steal to survive, to earn a living. Or to settle an old grudge…"

Dean's eyes flashed. "_Never_ defend those vermin, Rory. Have you seen Luke's hut, and how broken down it is?" he asked her angrily. "Do you think that the thieves cared about that when they robbed this cart last week? Do you think they cared?"

Rory stepped back, frightened. "Sorry…" she said softly. Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but turned around as a customer approached, and arranged his fruit in an attractive manner. Soon a whole crowd gathered around the cart. Rory wondered off to explore the marketplace, like she had done so many times before when she had been younger. She walked past the cart that sold parchment and ink, and the cart full of fresh bread. She walked past the cart full of trinkets, and the cart loaded with pots and pans. She walked past many interesting carts filled with assorted, colourful, useless, useful and expensive items. That was why when she came across a cart completely empty except for a piece of parchment attached to it's front, she stopped and stared in surprise. The parchment read:

_Fortune Telling _

_…In exchange for Information… _

The owner of the cart appeared to be an old man, who had his back towards her.

"Um…excuse me?" she said nervously. The old man stirred. "What type of information are you looking for?"

"Who says I'm looking for any information?" The old man said slowly, and Rory felt a pang of familiarity. The man turned around carefully, his eyes meeting Rory's, and he let out a small chuckle. "You must not confuse me with yourself."

"Ronald!" Rory exclaimed, overjoyed, and walked around the cart to fling herself into the old man's arms. She was to happy to ponder over his meaningful comment. "Jess found your walking stick… covered in blood… and we thought… " Rory trailed off.

Ronald beamed. "Blood was not mine. I gave a stubborn guard an large whack on the head. Gave him quite a fright!" Ronald chuckled as Rory pulled away. "How are my thieves?"

Rory's face turned serious, and her eyes held a hint of sadness. "Not that good…" she said, shaking her head. "Charles had his legs cut off… the whole part below his knees…and he lost much blood. Jon has been unconscious for two days now, but Mitch and Richard are okay."

"And Jess…?" Ronald inquired.

"Is fine," Rory mumbled. Ronald raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, but the arguments of youth are such a petty affair in the eyes of one so old as I." Ronald commented.

"He wont tell me something!" Rory burst out suddenly. "Something about my mother!"

Ronald stared at her sharply. Rory had a sudden suspicion.

"You know too, don't you?" she asked him, her eyes lighting up. "Wh- " 

"Rory! Time to go!" Rory recognised Dean's voice shouting through the various noises of the market place. She turned around to see where Dean was. He was standing not far off. She turned back to Ronald, and gasped in surprise. He was gone.

"Rory!" Dean was now at her side. "Rory, what is it?"

"…Nothing…" Rory whispered quietly. "Let's go…"

It was high noon as the two rode back to Luke's. Dean tried to strike up a conversation.

"So…" he said uncertainly. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well," Rory began slowly, not entirely sure what to say. "I live with Sookie and Jackson…"

"You call your parents by their first names?" Dean interrupted, his brow furrowed.

"Their not my parents." Rory said quickly. "They're my friends."

"Oh." Dean gazed at the pretty girl at his side. "What happened to your parents?" he asked sympathetically, and squeezed her hand.

"I don't know anything about my father," Rory said softly, feeling strange. She hardly ever talked to strangers about her parents. "But my mother was … beheaded."

"Beheaded?" Dean said, taken aback. "Why?"

Rory looked away, and gazed up at the sky. "They say it was treason."

Dean nodded. "What was her name?" he asked quietly.

Rory turned to Dean. "Lorelai Gilmore," she whispered.

"What?" Dean practically yelled, at pulled at the reins. The cart jolted to a stop. "_You're_ Lorelai Gilmore's daughter?"

"Yeah…" Rory said slowly. "Why, is that a problem?"

Dean didn't seem to hear her. He ran his hands through his brown hair disbelievingly and then glanced at Rory. His eyes widened as if seeing the resemblance for the first time.

"Dean, what is it?" Rory asked.

"Well…" Dean said, struggling to get the words out. "For one thing…you're a _noble_."

"I am not!" Rory objected.

"You're one of _them_, Rory." Dean said firmly.

"I already told you, I'm not! And if I were, it shouldn't matter!" Rory argued.

"Yes it should. You're rich. We're poor. You don't care about us stupid peasants. Right? Right?!" Dean shouted.

" And I wonder why! Whenever nobles try to help you, you just shout insults in their face! You throw their money back at them! Well sorry if your life has been tough, so has mine. My mother died when I was seven! I had to work when I was thirteen! Yes, I was poor! And just because you find out who my mother is you suddenly decide that you're existence has been more wretched than mine! Just because I'm a Gilmore! Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you idiot!" Rory yelled back at him. Pausing for breath, she stared at him angrily as her mind spun around because of all the injustices of the world. Then, without another word, she leaped out of the cart, soundlessly landed, and began walking in the direction she assumed Luke's hut would be.

"It's not only that you're a Gilmore!" Dean bellowed out to her. "It's because your mother was a thief!"

Rory froze in her tracks. "What?"

Dean climbed down from the cart, and caught up with her. "You're mother was a thief." He explained. "Didn't you know that?"

Rory shook her head soundlessly.

"Well, do you want to hear this?" Dean asked. Rory swallowed and nodded. This was what she'd been waiting for. What Luke, and Jess, and Ronald had kept from her. She was going to here it, right here and right now. She braced herself.

"Okay," Dean began. "I heard this from the market. There have been stories going around ever since… well ever since your mother died. I don't know which is the real one, but this seems the most likely. You're father's name was Christopher, and your mother was engaged to him. Christopher and Lorelai were from two noble and rich families. It was a good match between them. But your mother also had feelings for the her parent's butler. No one knows his name. The only thing was that he was a thief. It was him that introduced Lorelai and Christopher to the world of crime. Your parents seemed to be sick of the way nobles lived- they couldn't stand it. One day, they decided to steal the crown jewels from the king's uncle, but they were unsuccessful, and it is said that the butler gave the jewels to Lorelai, killed Christopher, hid the body and then made a quick getaway to save himself. Your mother was caught with the jewels and was arrested for treason."

There was a thick silence. Rory's mind was spinning. Christopher…_her father_. The butler…_Luke_. "But…but…" Rory said faintly. "How could anyone know the full story?"

Dean took a deep breath, tired of talking. "It is said that Lorelai used to be the best of friends with the palace cook. Lorelai confided in her before she went to steal the jewels, and the cook, worried about her friend, spied on the three thieves and saw what really happened."

_Sookie_. 

"But…but Sookie told me that my mother was planning on marrying my father in secret. And then they found out. And _that_ was why she was beheaded." Rory stammered.

"Convicted for treason? Because of _that_? I don't think so." Dean said darkly. And suddenly it all made sense to Rory. That was why she had always been so curious. Sookie's story had not satisfied the requirements for treason. She could never put her finger on what it was before, but she knew something was wrong…something was missing. Which meant…Sookie had lied to her. Luke had murdered her father, and all but sentenced her mother to death. Jess knew, Ronald knew…and the didn't have the decency to tell her. She had to find out from a complete stranger…like this.

All of a sudden Rory collapsed on the ground in a flood of tears, humiliated, scared and hurt. Could she trust no one? She was alone. And then someone wrapped his arms around her and helped her to her feet. Someone kind.

Slowly, Dean led Rory back to the cart. He sat next to her, with his arm around her, and they made their way slowly back to Luke's. Rory pulled herself together. She had to be ready for the confrontation between her and Luke. And Jess. She couldn't stay friends with him now… not after this. She didn't know what would happen or how she would make it through. But she didn't really have a choice.


	11. Uncovering Hidden Lies

A/n: I was going to make this chapter longer, but then I thought I'd cut it off here since I haven't updated in a while and I shouldn't keep you all waiting. ^.^ Okay, I know I've said this before…but seriously…in the **next** chapter Rory and Tristan will meet. =D yay! 

Chapter Eleven Uncovering Hidden lies 

Tristan's head was spinning, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He felt cold sweat break out all over his body, and he exhaled slowly, trying to squash down the feeling of impending dread that was growing slowly in the pit of his stomach. 

_Someone was trying to kill him_. 

The thought echoed in his head over and over again, but he met it with only numb disbelief. Looking down at his hand, which was resting lightly on his bedcovers, he lifted it slightly and saw that it was shaking…_trembling_ even. 

Trembling with_ fear. _

Frustrated at himself, he tried to suppress his emotions; tried to ignore the rush of adrenaline and the way his heart was thudding in his throat. To distract himself, he ran his hand through his blonde hair, messing it up properly. Angry thoughts ran through his head. He didn't need this, on top of everything else!

Reaching across his bed roughly, he furiously grabbed is tough, lumpy pillow, ready to throw it across the room for good measure – but froze in his tracks, his eyes fixed on the spot where his pillow had been. 

_"Shit!" _

The pillow dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Tristan started slightly, but didn't look away, his eyes locked on the far side of his bed. In the exact centre of the spot where his pillow had been, was a dagger, slim but sharp. It glinted maliciously in the faint light of Tristan's bedroom. The dagger's hilt was imbedded inside his hard mattress, so that only the blade immerged. The blade was pointing directly upwards. Numbly, Tristan bent down and picked up his pillow, turning it over. Sure enough, on the other side of the pillow, were puncture marks where the blade had cut through the thick material. Closing his eyes, Tristan tried not to imagine what would've happened if he had lay his head on his pillow that night. It would've been instant annihilation. 

Opening his eyes again quickly, he scanned his room for any more potential dangers. Even though he found none visible to the eye, he was still not satisfied. Someone was trying to steal away his life! Could he ever feel safe again? Probably not. 

"Okay, calm down Tristan," he told himself quietly. "What would be the most logical thing to do?" 

_Tell someone. _

Tristan didn't need anymore prompting. With his worries still fresh in his mind, he opened the door and started nervously towards his mother's sitting room – but not before adjusting the sheath of his sword, so that the hilt would be ready to pull out if …something unexpected were to happen. 

Tristan's footsteps were sharp and brisk, and echoed in the empty corridor he was walking through. His eyes shot left and right, on more than one occasion he considered unsheathing his sword. But somehow he managed to keep his instincts in control until he reached his mother's sitting room. The door was slightly open, and two people were conversing inside - his mother … and Marcus. 

Normally Tristan would have strode right in the room angrily commanding Marcus to leave ignoring the exclamations from his mother. But today was not a normal day. Tristan had a strange hunch that what was being said would be of great importance to him. So quietly, Tristan bobbed down on the other side of the door, and pressed his ear lightly against the cold wood. 

"Marcus, I do believe you're going a little too far," his mother was saying. "Hiring someone to murder him is a little to the extreme!" 

Tristan froze, and a new wave of dread swept over him. Could he trust no one? 

"Marietta," Marcus said patiently in a controlled tone. It took Tristan a moment to realise who Marcus was talking to – he had called Tristan's mother by her first name. "I didn't hire someone to murder him. I hired someone to _attempt_ to murder him. There's a difference." 

"And if that someone succeeds?" Tristan's mother asked sharply. 

"I wouldn't know. The crown would go back to you, probably," said Marcus in his confident, yet slightly calculating tone. Tristan wondered how his mother could be so composed when discussing her son's death. 

"Well, I don't see the point in it all," his mother retorted. Tristan had to wonder whether Marcus had bought her over to his side yet or not. 

"The whole point, Marietta, is that we can't rely on Tristan to do everything I ask anymore. I told you about what happened that day when the thieves came to steal the crown jewels. The bloody kid defended them! Furthermore, he tried to fight me!" Marcus' voice now had a mad quality in it that Tristan had never heard before. There was a long silence, and Tristan waited for what his mother was going to say. He knew that her comment would be the deciding factor in how the conversation would play out. 

"What do you want from me?" His mother finally said shortly, and her voice wavered slightly. Tristan froze, and listened for Marcus' reply. 

"Your cooperation and discretion," Marcus replied smoothly. "If and when your son is killed." 

Tristan didn't wait for his mother's reply. He got up and ran down the corridor blindly, not having the faintest idea where he was going. Behind him, he heard his mother shout out, "Tristan! It's not what it sounds!" Tristan shot his mother a glance of pure disgust and kept running. He didn't know where he planned on heading, all he knew was that he had to get out of the castle, and quick. Down the stairs, left, right, left, straight ahead, he turned smoothly as he ran, not needing to slow down as he came across corners. He knew this castle like the back of his hand. Left, forward, down two more flights of stairs, left, left again and then out the back door of the kitchen hand's dormitory. A few more paces away from the door and he stopped, and viewed what was around him. 

Miles and miles of green pastures riddled with small white flowers lay ahead of him. It would take half a day just to cross it on foot. But Tristan didn't have a choice. He took off, as fast as he could, running across the fields but making sure to hug the natural line of trees that spread from the castle to the mountains beyond. 

He had barely run a mile before he caught side of a wooden carriage moving away from the castle, on the other side of the line of trees. It was being drawn by two black horses, and seemed to be empty. Tristan dared to be hopeful – maybe he could get a ride from whoever was driving the carriage. Tentatively he walked through the trees and stepped out into the open, motioning that the driver come over to him. 

Tristan saw the carriage's pace quicken towards him, and felt relieved that in a few minutes he'd be sitting on the back of a carriage, travelling far away from the castle, from Marcus, and from his mother. 

But as the carriage approached Tristan, it did not slow down. At first Tristan thought that perhaps the driver didn't see him, or didn't want to give him a ride, but then it dawned on Tristan that the carriage was coming straight towards him. It was trying to run him over! 

"Damn! Damn you Marcus…" Tristan muttered, and took off through the trees back to the castle. He didn't seem to have any other choice if he wanted to stay alive. Sprinting across the ankle-deep grass, he heard the horses and carriage immerge from the trees behind him. The castle got closer and closer, slowly getting larger. He could almost the door to the back entrance. Hearing the sound of a horse rearing directly behind him, he turned and with horror saw that the carriage was right behind him. Without time to realise the immorality of what he was doing, he unsheathed his sword and pointed it upwards. A horse reared again and Tristan was ready. He moved quickly and with a flash of sword and a flash of blood the horse lay dead on the ground. The carriage, unbalanced by the dead horses' weight, tipped over. Tristan quickly wiped his sword on the grass, sheathed it and ran the rest of the way to the back entrance to the castle. 

Opening the door, he was glad to find only a few servants were in the second kitchen. They stared at him, surprised, but said nothing. He was the King, after all. Making his way back up to his bedroom, he unsheathed his sword, ready for anything. Strangely enough he was unhindered and got to his room without any trouble at all. This made him even more suspicious. Opening his bedroom door slow enough to be cautious but fast enough for it not to creak, he saw that someone was inside. Not wasting anymore time, he jumped into the room and pointed his blade to the figure's throat. It was the Duke. 

+ ^ + ^ + ^ + ^ + 

Jess sat down on the dusty floor of Luke's hut, and obligingly drank the wooden bowl of warm soup that was given to him. It tasted good, so he sipped it slowly, wanting to make it last as long as possible. He had learnt, in the thieving world, that nothing good ever lasted long, so it was best to make the most of it while you could. 

The door of Luke's hut creaked open. Jess looked up to see who it was, his instincts softened by the tasty soup. It was Rory. Her face was pale and tearstained, and her blue eyes were rimmed with red. There were smudges of dirt on her face and on her palms, and she was shaking. 

"Rory, what's wrong? What happened?" Jess jumped to his feet, his bowl of soup forgotten, spilt on the ground. He put one hand around her shoulder as if to pull her into a protective hug but she flinched at his touch and moved away. 

"Don't touch me," she said, her voice shaking. "Just leave me alone," 

Jess just stared at Rory, unsure of what to do. He had never seen her like this before, and it scared him. "Rory, what happened?" he asked again. 

The air hung thick between the two, the atmosphere tense. Rory and Jess stared into each other's eyes, Jess' eyes confused and questioning and Rory's eyes hurt and angry. Jess couldn't take the fierceness in her stare – he looked away first. 

"Why should I tell you?" 

Mitch sensed that this was serious. He got to his feet, and Richard followed his lead. "Rory," Mitch said, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Why are you so angry at Jess?" 

Jess was openly confused, and approached Rory carefully. "I don't understand," he said quietly. "Was it something I did?" 

"You lied to me!" Rory yelled out, and shoved Jess away from her. "You knew about what happened to my mother and you didn't tell me!" Then with the strength and agility that she had attained from thieving, she moved forward and slapped Jess's face – hard. Jess stood frozen for a moment, and then moved a hand up to touch his cheek softly. It stung, but not as much as his heart. He understood why Rory was angry, and what was more, he knew she had perfect right to be. 

"Rory – " 

"I don't want to hear it, Jess. You had your chance and you didn't tell me. You _lied_. How can I ever trust you again? _I hate you_." Rory choked on the last three words, and then collapsed into Mitch's strong arms, crying. Jess felt like crying himself. His best friend in the whole world hated him. His most loyal companion. The…the girl he loved. 

"Rory, listen – " Jess said, his eyes despairing. His heart felt heavy in his chest and his hands were cold with sweat and tears. His own tears. 

"What is going on out here?" Luke said, coming out of his bedroom. "You got two wounded men in there, and yet you find that no reason to…" Luke stopped dead when he saw the scene in front of him. Rory moved away from Mitch and turned to face Luke. Suddenly she was overcome by a huge wave of exhaustion. 

"_Did you kill my father_?" 

All eyes were fixed on Luke. 

"Well, you see it was – " 

"_Did you frame my mother_?" 

The silence was almost unbearable. Then… 

"…Yes." 

Jess looked at Luke sharply, and Luke gave Jess a look in return. He nodded once, slowly, his eyes fixed on Jess, and Jess seemed to understand. Rory, however, took no notice of this exchange. 

"Let's go," she said, her voice wavering, and turned to leave, her brown hair falling about her shoulders and shadowing her face. 

"What?" Jess exclaimed, and moved forward, grabbing Rory's wrist thoughtlessly. Since when was she making the orders, anyway? 

"I don't want to stay here anymore." Rory said firmly, and pulled her hand away from his. "Don't touch me." 

"We can't leave!" Jess said incredulously, speaking loudly to cover his hurt at Rory's last statement. "What about Charles and Jon?" 

"I don't care!" Rory said, knowing that it wasn't true. "I just can't stay here." 

"We can't leave!" Jess shouted. 

"Then I'm leaving." Rory yelled back. There was sudden silence, where the two just stared at each other. Neither of them ever saw this moment coming. 

"What…?" Jess said softly. 

"I quit, I don't want to be a thief anymore. I'm leaving." 

"You can't leave," Jess whispered. He stared at Rory in disbelief. "We're your family." He moved to take her hand, but Rory recoiled, and Jess looked away. 

Mitch turned Rory around to face him, his broad hands on both her shoulders. "Don't go," he said. 

"Yeah Rory," Richard chimed in. "We cant do this without you. We need you." Rory looked at Richard, and Jess saw doubt in her blue eyes. 

"We all need you." He said. Rory's gaze then turned to Jess, but now her expression unreadable. 

"I wish I could trust you…but all your words are lies anyway," she said bitterly. 

"Don't go." Jess pleaded. 

"I can't stay." 

"How about if we go with you?" Mitch said, and Jess looked at him sharply. Could this lead to rebellion? Jess was tired of people going against him. Did they all dislike him? No…it was just Rory who hated him, he reminded himself moodily. 

"I said no." 

Richard spoke up. "Jess is our leader. Simple. We have to do what he says." He gave an apologetic look to Rory. "There's nothing else we can do." 

"I wont let Rory leave alone." Mitch said firmly. Jess felt a pang of jealousy. Since when did Mitch care so much about her? 

"But Richard is right. There's nothing you can do. _I'm _your leader." Jess hated pulling rank, but the situation was starting to get out of control, and that was always bad, especially amongst cut-throat thieves. 

"Unless I challenge you." Rory said coldly. 

"What?!" Jess said, genuinely surprised and caught off-guard. 

"I challenge you." Rory repeated slowly. "For your title. We will duel." 

Jess stared at Rory in shock as she stated the deadly words of combat challenge. He exhaled slowly, and had no choice but to accept, or die on the spot. 

"We will duel." 


	12. Only Hope

****

Authors Note: Four words: It is finally here. ^^ 

****

Chapter Twelve

__

Only Hope

"Between **who you are** and **who you could be**

Between **how it is** and **how it should be**"

Switchfoot 

Jess unsheathed his sword slowly, inch by inch. It was heavier then he remembered. 

__

I've been through a lot with this sword he reflected. _It was the first thing that I'd ever stolen. I wonder if Luke's noticed that it's gone yet?_

"Jess! Is that _my_ sword?" 

__

Damn!

"Um … you leant it to me, remember?" Jess grinned sheepishly, glad for the distraction. 

__

Anything to stop me thinking about her. 

As a matter of fact, 'her' was in a much more visibly frantic state than her fellow combatant seemed to be. 

"Oh Mitch, what am I going to do!" Rory Gilmore practically threw herself into the outstretched arms of her long-time thieving friend, the brotherly Mitch. "I don't even have a sword!" 

Rory had objected to a sword even though Jess insisted that every thief in his band was to have one. She thought them too violent for her, resulting in two long-term disadvantages - she was amiss of a very powerful weapon and the knowledge of how to use it. Now it was all coming back to haunt her.

__

I guess Jess was right. Rory thought grudgingly. _He said that there would be a time when I would need a sword and be sorry that I didn't have one. Though I bet he never suspected that I would need it to duel against him!_

"You're free to use my sword," Mitch said, trying to be helpful. "But I'm afraid you'll find it extremely heavy, especially since you've never handled one before."

Rory groaned. "Great."

"On second thought, you're probably better off borrowing someone else's sword. A lighter sword would probably give you a better chance." Mitch looked around as if expecting a perfect sword to appear on the ground right in front of him. 

"I would borrow someone else's if I could, but everyone else's sword is the same size as yours if not heavier." Rory was at this point beyond even despair. "Everyone except Charles … and Jess."

"I suspect we left Charles' sword at the castle. Pity, it had a sharp blade," Mitch added, almost regretfully. 

"And we all know I can't use Jess' sword. _That's_ obvious. I remember specifically that Jess promised me - _he promised me_ - that I could use his sword if I ever needed one. We're about the same size, you know. He told me that if I needed a sword, all I had to do was ask. How ironic. I don't suppose you can share swords in a duel. That'd just be stupid-" 

"Rory,"

"What?"

"Are you okay?" 

Rory stopped her nervous babbling long enough to look at her loyal friend properly, and found concern in his eyes. There was a long pause.

"I'll just use your sword," she said quietly. 

__

Nephews! Luke thought in exasperation. _They're nothing but trouble. _

There Jess was, grinning as cocky as a spaniel, actually enjoying Luke's frustration, with the stolen sword bright in his hand.

"I can't believe you stole my sword!" Luke ran a hand through his untidy mane of hair. Why couldn't he have normal nephews like everyone else? 

"Gee, calm down. I only borrowed it. And hey, I took good care of it." Jess held the sword blade-up high enough for the light to illuminate the metal. It was unblemished. "See? And plus, you don't need it anyway. You should be grateful that I made good use of it." 

"That's not the point!"

"All right, all right, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have stol- Ow! What do you think you're doing?" Luke had grabbed his nephew by the arm and was dragging him ruthlessly into the hut. 

"You don't understand!" 

"Understand what? So I stole a sword, big deal." Jess shrugged.

"But that's not just any sword. That's _the_ sword! It's … the sword that killed Christopher. Jess, don't use that language on my grounds!" 

Jess had just let out a vehement exclamation. He sheathed the sword quickly, took off the scabbard, and leant it against one of the walls of Luke's hut. Luke himself watched his nephew silently. 

"Great. So I'm supposed to duel with_ that _sword? This just keeps on getting better and better." Jess wiped his hands on his trousers as if he had just touched something unwholesome.

"Look, Jess, is there any way you could get out of this duel?" Luke suddenly felt very old and tired. Fate seemed to have it in for him for some reason. 

"Not without getting killed." 

"Wonderful. That's all we need. Another chance for history to repeat itself." 

"History repeating itself? Don't tell me you buy all this fate mambo-jambo. It's just a sword. A sword with a history, yeah, but it's still a sword." Jess shrugged, and nudged the scabbard with his foot. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Luke winced. 

"I don't mean anything mystical." Luke gently picked up the scabbard, and lay it on a small, wooden table behind Jess. He did everything slowly and carefully, as if he was handling a basket of eggs. "You know I hate that stuff! No, what I'm trying to tell you that the sword itself is faulty."

"No way! I've used it loads of times, and it's just fine." But despite his words, Jess moved to unsheathe the sword to see if it was true. Luke held him back. 

"That's because I fixed it up," he said. "But I'm just a farmer Jess. You can't expect the adjustments I made to hold. That sword could break at any moment, and not in the usual way. It was designed as a last-resort for self defence. It's made up of two separate parts, the hilt and the blade, which can be attached or detached. You get me so far?"

"Yeah, keep going." Although on the outside, Jess kept his calm exterior, Luke could tell that inside Jess' complicated mind the cogs were turning.

"The idea was, you kept the hilt with you and hid the blade in some inconspicuous spot, and just attached the two together if the unexpected happened." 

"You mean, if someone like me happened." Jess grinned.

"Exactly. It was the only sword I could afford at the time, so I bought it. But Jess, when you detach the blade from the hilt, you do so by pressuring a spring inside the hilt. It bounces forward and propels the blade out. And the thing is, the spring in my sword somehow is extra sensitive. If my adjustments don't hold, there will be nothing to stop the blade from shooting out the next time you block a particularly strong blow from a heavy sword. Which means…"

Jess suddenly felt cold all over. "Things could get dangerous." 

"Dangerous? Jess, it could kill someone!"

"Someone like Rory."

"See, you hold it like this, with your right hand on the bottom. Carry most of the weight with your left hand and use your right hand for control. That's right. Now, hand it here. To block, you just thrust your sword upwards, horizontally, until it meets the opposing blade." Mitch imitated a simple block, swift and precise. "Always try to defend with this end, and attack with that other end. Now you try." Mitch held the sword out to Rory. 

The sword felt awkward in her hands. She wasn't used to carrying something as big as Mitch's oversized weapon, and felt slightly off balance. She swayed some to the left.

"Move your right foot out a bit," Mitch instructed. "That's right, put your weight on the right foot. Good."

Making sure that her feet were planted firmly on the ground, she raised the sword up. It quivered in her hands - the sheer weight of it was almost too much for her.

"You're doing fine," Mitch said. "Now block!"

Rory brought the sword up at a horizontal angle and held it there with all the strength she could muster.

"Keep it there! Keep it there!" Mitch instructed. "For one … two … three…"

Rory gasped from the effort it took. She had seen the others do the same exercise, but she never imagined it would be so difficult! 

"Four … five … six … seven … eight … nine … ten! Okay, drop it!" 

Rory did so with relief. 

"Not bad, for your first go." Mitch said, wiping away the sweat from his own forehead. "Not bad at all." 

"I don't know how you and the others manage to do it all the time!" Rory said, a little breathlessly. "It's really hard!"

"It just takes practise," Mitch consoled. "I remember what it was like my first time - "

"Mitch! Rory! Do you know where Jess is? I'm almost done here!" Richard's voice interrupted Mitch mid-sentence. Richard had been making preparations for the duel on a flat pasture on a side of Luke's hut.

"I think I saw him go into the hut! I'll go get him!" Mitch took off, leaving Rory very much alone. He was concerned about her, and about Jess. He was especially concerned about the outcome of this duel. It could be disastrous. _We've always prided ourselves in being the survivors. _Mitch thought, as he entered the hut. _But it seems that our downfall could come from within our ranks, rather than from outside forces - _

Mitch's thoughts were interrupted by two heated voices.

"Is there another sword you could use?" Luke was asking. Mitch saw that Luke was seated on a sturdy wooden stool, looking so old and troubled that Mitch almost felt sorry for him.

And then there was Jess.

"No. The other swords are too heavy for me. This is the only one that's my size. Charles' sword is still at the castle." Jess was pacing back and forth, paler than Mitch had ever seen him. His sword was lying lone on a wooden table. Mitch wondered what was the matter. 

"Um…Jess?" Mitch said, feeling uncomfortable about interrupting.

Jess froze in his tracks, and rigidly turned around to face Mitch. 

"Yes?"

"Richard's almost finished the preparations."

Jess nodded. "Thanks." 

Mitch didn't budge.

"Is there anything else?"

" - About your sword. I couldn't help but overhear. There isn't anything _wrong_ with it, is there?" 

Silence. 

Jess and Luke exchanged equally unsure glances. _They really are related. _Mitch smiled inwardly, despite himself. 

"No, nothing's wrong with the sword." Jess said finally.

"Nothing at all," Luke added. 

"Good." Mitch plummeted on. "Because I wanted to ask you if you would swap swords with Rory."

"_What!_"Jess yelled. "_Why?_" 

"Well, see, I don't think it's very fair - "

Jess' eyes flashed. "Not fair! _She's_ the one who challenged _me_!" 

"She doesn't have any experience in sword fighting whatsoever! She doesn't even have a damn sword! She has to use mine, which is what - about _three_ times to big for her!" Mitch was surprised at the harshness of his own voice.

"So what, make _me_ use _your_ sword? Doesn't that tilt the unfairness scale a bit more to my side?" Jess took a step towards Mitch threateningly.

"Look," Mitch continued quietly, seeing the dangerous look in Jess' eyes. "She has never handled a sword before. _You've_ had seven years. If you used my sword and she used yours, it'd be about even, wouldn't it?"

"But - "

"But what?"

Jess looked helplessly at Luke. Luke however, was looking at the sword. _Well, everyone'll be better off if I get killed instead of Rory, _was the only logical thought that ran through his mind. _I deserve it._

"Sure, she can use my sword."

Mitch nodded in appreciation, and departed as quietly as only a thief could. _The way he'd said it, you'd think he was passing his own death sentence, _Mitch thought to himself on his way out.

But for all Mitch knew, Jess very well could have been. 

"Eerrp! Tristan! Put that horrible weapon away at once!" Tristan's hand didn't waver. The tip of his sword remained dangerously close to the Duke's throat. He was starting to wonder if there was anyone in his kingdom he could trust.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked, a little more harshly than he had intended. His nerves were really on edge. 

__

Yeh…he thought. _That's what happens when you find out that someone's attempting to kill you, and your own mother doesn't give a damn._

"Watch your tongue, boy." The Duke was very badly shaken by Tristan's tone, and whenever he was caught off guard, his number one instinct was to reprimand. It was in his nature. "What ever has brought on this crazy, feverish, irrational side of you? I've never seen you like this in my life!"

"Sure, Horace, sure." The Duke winced visibly. No one had called him Horace since his grandmother died, twenty four years ago. 

"Please, Tristan. You know I detest being called that."

"So what?" There was a paranoid glimmer in Tristan's eye, and his voice was quivered, but his hand did not falter. "I'm the one holding the sword!"

"What's the matter with you, boy!" 

Tristan paused to observe a round, bead of sweat trickle down the side of the Duke's chubby face, leaving a wet, tell-tale trail.

"You're sweating, Duke."

"Thank you for pointing that out." The Duke said sarcastically, beginning to feel annoyed. Really, now, this was no way to treat company! "The reason why completely escapes me. Though it may have something to do with that sword you're pointing at my neck, but I might just be sensitive."

"You never sweat under pressure." Tristan pointed out. "You only sweat when you're lying or when you've just eaten pork."

The Duke gave Tristan a telling stare.

"No way!"

"Guess what I had for breakfast?"

"You're lying!"

"Bacon. Juicy, simmering, crispy, slightly burnt bacon." The Duke licked his chops at the mere memory of the succulent strip of pork he had dined on that morning. 

"I refuse to believe it!" Tristan said, half amused, half disbelieving. "I'm insulted that you think I'd fall for that."

"It's true!"

Tristan caught up with himself, and actually looked at the Duke. He was right there, standing in front of him, as short and chubby as he had been all Tristan's life. He was dressed in red velvet, and Tristan noted that the colour suited him well. The Duke's face was shiny with sweat, and blotchy with pent up annoyance. His eyes were earnest, though, and, now that Tristan thought about it, the Duke _did_ smell like pork. Suddenly Tristan dropped his sword. It clattered noisily as it hit the floor.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." Tristan couldn't believe that he had doubted the Duke, whom he had known for the whole of his life. "I don't know what's gotten into me." 

The Duke nervously stepped around Tristan's sword and lay a chubby fist on Tristan's shoulder. "I think I do."

"You do?" Tristan collapsed into a chair, and the Duke followed suit.

"Yes." The Duke stretched his legs, and casually lay his feet out on the footrest in front of him. "I mean, I'd be jumpy too if my own family hired someone to attempt to murder me." 

It took a moment for Tristan to register what the Duke had said.

"W-w-what! You… you _knew_?" he managed to get out.

"Oh yes. It's been favoured gossip among the aristocrats for several weeks now. Don't tell me you've only found out today? Oh." Catching the look on Tristan's face, the Duke fell quiet.

"How long ago, exactly, has this been in the works?" Tristan felt a serene calm sweep over him. The thick blanket of ignorance that had blissfully covered him had now been replaced with a thicker blanket of disbelief.

"It's been common knowledge for at least a month, but that's all I can tell you." The Duke shrugged. "My guess'd be three months at the least."

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

The Duke could see that Tristan was hurt. "I thought you already knew," he said sincerely. "I thought you were expecting an attack. I had no idea that you had no idea. You have my word on that, Tristan."

Tristan nodded, his eyes dull. He hadn't felt this helpless since his father had died. Waves of despair threatened to drown him. His eyes drifted to his sword, lying on the ground.

"Maybe I should just kill myself, and make it easier for everyone else." He said in an empty voice. He was dead serious, too. His whole world had come crashing down and it was too late do pick up the pieces.

"Oh, stop talking nonsense. Don't take things so seriously." 

"Um…"

__

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little shocked to find out my assassination was common topic of gossip… 

"Seriously. It's all just part of the game."

__

Game? My being killed is a game? Okay, it's official. You've lost me…

"What game?"

"The game which comes with the politics of being royalty. You know, they try to kill you, you come up with a plan of defence, they think up a nastier scheme, you come back with a smarter defence tactic…" 

Tristan looked blankly at the Duke.

"Huh?"

"That's why I came by today, actually." The Duke said. "To discuss your plan of defence with you."

"What plan of defence?" Tristan asked, now completely bewildered.

"Exactly! You have none!" The Duke sat up and slapped Tristan good-naturedly on the shoulder. "I was going to give you some rookie tips."

"Is this your twisted idea of fun?" 

"It's easier to survive if you're having fun." The Duke grinned. "Now, we can't afford to waste anymore time. Is there anyone you can think of who might be able to help you out?" 

__

How did I get myself into this? 

He was standing right there, sword in hand. His untidy hair shadowed his eyes, and his expression was unreadable. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked softly. 

__

No! Of course I don't want to do this. The words just came out. I can't duel! What do I say? I don't know…what would my mom do? 

She'd fight.

"There's no backing out now." 

"You seem determined." 

__

Shows how well you know me.

"So do you," she said.

"_Combatants!_" Richard bellowed out, and Rory and Jess fell silent. They were standing in the middle of a large field situated on Luke's property. Richard had cut the grass roughly with a longsword, marking the boundaries in which the duel was to take place. Rory and Jess were standing inside the boundaries, facing each other, while the three spectators looked from outside. 

__

"Pick up your weapons!"

Mitch's sword was lying on the yellowing grass just next to Rory's feet. She reached down to pick it up, but Jess snatched the hilt before she could get a firm grip on it.

"Hey," she protested. "That's my sword."

"Use mine," Jess said. 

"Why?"

"It's fairer this way." 

Rory couldn't fathom the look in Jess' eyes. He seemed reluctant, almost fearful. 

Why?

Rory slowly bent down and picked up Jess' sword. It was lighter than Mitch's, and was more suited to her slim hands. 

__

"Take your places!"

Rory and Jess moved to stand three feet away from each other, with their backs against each other, feet shoulder-length apart. Slowly, they raised their swords.

__

"One. Two. Three." 

"I just don't know who I can trust anymore," Tristan confided to the Duke. "It seems like everyone I used to think I could trust are all in it against me."

"Then think of someone whom you didn't trust," the Duke suggested, picking a piece of lint off his velvet suit. 

__

How much longer before he gets the hint? The Duke thought, sighing inwardly. Over the past three hours they had discussed vermin, spies, brunette women, and the advantages of resourceful people, but Tristan still remained oblivious to the Duke's numerous hints. _He's as narrow minded as his father was…_

"That won't work." Tristan was exhausted. He and the Duke had been discussing defence tactics for three whole hours, and they had gone over everything from vermin to brunette women, and they still hadn't gotten anywhere. The Duke had been shooting down every idea Tristan came up with. Tristan had the feeling the Duke had a plan all set out in that mind of his, and was waiting for Tristan to figure it out for himself, but Tristan had no idea what it was. He wished the Duke would just out and tell him. "I never trusted Marcus, and he turned out to be the head of it all." 

"I wasn't talking about Marcus," The Duke was getting impatient. 

"Then who were you talking about?" Tristan was getting _really_ impatient.

__

I give up! The Duke thought, exasperated. 

"A certain young thief comes to mind…" was all he needed to say.

"A thief!" Tristan exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Perfect!"

__

Dean trudged through Luke's familiar corn fields. He was really concerned about Rory. She seemed very upset about her mother, and who could blame her? Right now, Dean was intent on finding her, and comforting her.

Stepping through the last line of corn plantations, Dean caught sight of Luke's hut. He started to walk in that general direction, but saw a group of people gathered together in a field to the side of Luke's dilapidated dwelling. 

__

Maybe Rory's there…he thought.

As he got nearer, he saw that Rory _was_ there. She was standing right in the middle of the group of people, holding up a sword. Behind her was… it was a thief! 

Dean's mind reeled as strange, masculine thoughts ran through his head.

__

That brown-haired boy is about to duel with Rory! I bet she doesn't even know how to use that sword she's holding. I'll have to save her…

"Rory! RORY!" Someone was shouting out her name. A familiar somebody. She tried to remember…that's right. That peasant boy…Dean. 

She turned around to see him sprinting towards her.

"Dean, what are you doing here?"

Dean ignored her, his eyes narrowed and glaring at Jess. Without a word, he swung his fist back and punched Jess with all his strength. Jess barely flinched.

"Dean, stop it!" 

"Rory, what are you doing with these thieves?" Dean asked her. "Here, give me your sword. I'll fend them off for you."

He tried to grab it from her, but she held it firm.

"Don't be scared, Rory. I'll get you out of here…" he said, trying to break her grip.

"Dean, let go!" Rory said, pulling the sword towards her with all the strength she could muster.

"No, I can help!" Dean said earnestly, tugging on the sword hilt all the more. "Really."

"Dean! Stop it!" Rory said in frustration. "These people are my friends!" 

Dean had been pulling on the sword hilt as hard as he could, but hearing Rory's words he let go instantly. Rory was propelled backwards, landing hard on her back.

The sword hit the ground hilt first. 

__

It was like everything was moving in slow motion. She hit the ground with a dull thud, and pain shot through the back of her spine. She could see Dean, standing pale and tall, staring at her like she was something foul and undesirable. She could the hatred building up in his eyes. There was a softer thump on the ground, beside her. It was Jess' sword. It hit the ground hilt-first. There was a strange click, like a spring being released. And then…

"Jess!" she screamed. "No!"

__

Jess kneeled forwards, blood oozing from his stomach, smearing the yellowing grass underneath him a deep shade of crimson. 

__

One thought echoed through his mind… 

Rory, I'm so sorry… 


	13. What it Takes

****

Author's Note: Wow, this is my first official chapter as 'Buttered Angie'. Let me just say: "Yes!" Chapter 13 up! Finally! This one took a while, and I've only got a chance to go over about half of it thoroughly, so please ignore any careless mistakes in the second half. Thanks for all your reviews – they're all really encouraging. It's great to see so many people like this story! The story is kind of progressing a little bit more now, the chapter after this will probably be a bit boring, but chapter 15 … ah, I won't give anything away. Hope you like it, and reviews are always welcome! Keep reading and writing! =) 

Buttered Angie

**A Thousand Miles **

__

What It Takes

- - -

__

Am I real? Am I a dream?

Am I borrowed? Am I blue?

Is it just the dust of leaving you settling?

Am I fair? Am I strong?

Am I there? Do I belong?

Is it only skin I touch when I reach for you?

**Settling** by Tara MacLean

- - -

The cool evening breeze tiptoed across Rory's tearstained cheeks. '_I wonder if the stars ever get lonely?' _she thought, staring numbly at the moonlit heavens above her. The night world had always been her comfort, her solitude, and her reverie, but now it meant nothing.

She felt as if her whole life had come crashing down around her and she was powerless to stop it. It was all she could do not to scream out loud. Almost everything she had once loved and cherished in this world had disappeared into oblivion. They told her to stay hopeful; that Jess was a fighter and he would make it through this, but she didn't buy it. She had tried to believe them – she honestly tried. And maybe for one blissful moment she did believe that he would be okay. But then she saw the blood – pools of his blood – drenching his clothes, slowly seeping into the ground … 

Love and wishful thinking weren't enough to save him. He needed a miracle. 

Rory bit on her bottom lip to muffle the sobs, but she couldn't stop the tears from falling. The once gentle breeze now broke out into a fierce, shrieking gale. Her unrestrained hair whipped and flailed wildly around her figure, illuminated in the moonlight. She sank to the ground, trying desperately to cover her head with her arms. She could no longer tell the difference between the wind's howls and her own. 

__

'Please don't leave me like this,' she begged as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, making a pillow for her head with her arms. She could smell the gritty grass underneath her fingers. She could taste the salt of her own tears. 

* * * * *

What was her name? She couldn't remember. Wait, yes she could. Her name was Rory. She was wandering through an endless valley of myth, or was it mist? It was a little hard to tell. It didn't matter anyhow. Somewhere about her she heard the haunting melody of an old lullaby being played on a wooden pipe. How did the words go? She used to know...

Where were her shoes? Her feet felt cold. The grass was smooth and glassy beneath her feet, not like the grass Rory was used to at all. Looking down, she saw that each blade twinkled delicately with new fallen dew. All around her, the grass was shimmering. It was strangely enchanting, almost hypnotic. She didn't dare move, scared she might break the queer thread of magic that was weaving its spell within her. 

What was that smell? It was the smell of dew falling on honeycomb. Of roses covered in winter's first snow. Of warm sunlight stretching out its long fingers through the twisted boughs of ancient oak trees. Of life and of love.

What was that? Something brushed against her cheek, something soft and warm and sweet. There it was again! She caught a glimpse of pink. It was showering pink rose buds! It was the most magnificent thing that she had ever seen. Their sweet fragrance floated about her, through her, within her, the indulgent perfume intoxicating. From where were the flowers falling? Why were they falling? They were a welcome, but not for her. Someone else was coming…

Who was it? It was a woman. First she wasn't there, and then she was! The woman walked tall, radiating with pride and elegance. She wore a pale satin dress, which shimmered as shy and mystically as a star. Her dark hair had been curled into playful ringlets that fell just below her shoulders and her eyes were such that Rory felt as though she was looking into two of her own. 

"Mum," Rory whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a word that seemed to come from within her, from the hollow of her nature, the very depths of her soul. 

"Hi sweetheart!" Lorelai Gilmore smiled brightly at her daughter. In appearance she looked solid and corporeal, but her voice was only an echo, like she was speaking to Rory from a long way away. "How do you feel? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Rory said softly. Never before had she felt as close to her mother than she did in that moment. All the empty feeling that she had kept hidden within her heart was now replaced with gentle and tender love – a mother's love. 

Lorelai lifted her slim hand and caressed Rory's cheek. "Oh, my baby," she murmured over and over again, tears forming in her clear blue eyes. 

"Mum!" Rory flung herself into her mother's arms and felt the warmth of a mother's hug for the first time. For her whole life she had imagined what it would be like to have her mother hug her, and now she finally knew - it felt like a miracle. 

"I know you've been through a lot, honey," Lorelai said after they had separated. "And I know you're finding it difficult to deal with Jess getting injured." 

"What do you mean? How do you know about Jess?" Rory had so many questions that she wanted to ask her mother, but was only capable of voicing them one at a time. "Have you been watching me?"

Lorelai suddenly laughed, and all the myths and mists cleared away, revealing a new dawn breaking. The sunrise cast an orange glare over them both, and Lorelai's lovely dress now shined a brilliant gold. 

"You bet," she said, and then her expression hardened. "Oh, and by the way, be more careful about who you spend your time with, okay? Off the record, I don't think Jess is the type of company I want my little girl to be associating with. Some of the thing's he's done… well, let me just say that he's a very dangerous person to be around." 

"You mean he's going to live?" Rory asked, purposely overlooking her mother's well-meant warning.

"That all depends on you," Lorelai said seriously, lowering her voice. Rory felt a cold chill run down her spine. "You are going to be made an odd offer – sometime soon - by a certain individual whose name I'm not allowed to tell you. All I can tell you is that he's a spunk. And you have to – " 

"Wait," Rory interrupted. " What's a spunk?" 

"Oh you know," Lorelai said vaguely "like a hottie, or a babe, or something. But anyway, that's not the point. What I'm trying tell you is…" 

"Hot-tea? Bay-ebb? Um…" 

"Yeah, like a cutie," Lorelai looked at her daughter hopefully.

"Key-you-tea?" Rory was completely lost. Her mother sighed in exasperation. 

"A. Handsome. Man. You have got to know what a handsome man is. Please tell me you know what a handsome man is." 

"Oh." Rory nodded, but didn't really understand. "Yes, I know..."

Satisfied with the latest improvements in Rory's vocabulary, Lorelai continued on. "Anyway, as I was saying, its up to you to decide whether or not you're going to accept or decline this offer. But choose carefully, because your choice is going to shape the state of the future world." Lorelai paused for effect, then added dramatically, "And whether or not Jess is going to die." 

"How will I know which is the right choice?" Rory's heart started to quicken it's pace. This was like some fantastically ethereal dream. She could no longer tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

"Oh, you'll know," Lorelai said cryptically. "Just be true to yourself, and follow your guy instinct. Oh, pardon, did I say guy? I meant gut…" 

The sentence died on Lorelai's lips. She suddenly turned her head sharply to one side, seeing something that Rory could not. All emotion faded from her face, and her eyes became glassy and expressionless. "You have to go now," she said in a hollow voice. "Goodbye." 

"Wait! Mum, wait!" Rory cried, and reached for her mother. She didn't want to see her go. She didn't want to lose her all over again. But when she tried to grab hold of Lorelai's arm, her hand touched nothing but air. It was too late. Her mother was gone. 

The flowers stopped falling, becoming ghosts of the past. The grass felt rough against her feet. The smell of moist soil filled her nostrils. She was going back… 

* * * * *

Rory opened her eyes. It was now daybreak. Had she fallen asleep? She must have. She sat up stiffly, wincing at the cramps in her neck and back. She had had a strange dream, but she couldn't quite remember what it was about. She knew it had something to do with Jess…and _someone_ trying to warn her about something…

It was pointless. Trying to remember the details of a lost dream was like trying to hold water in cupped hands. No matter how hard you persevered, you were going to lose it all in the end. _'Kind of like my life at the moment,' _she thought wryly.

Slowly, she got to her feet. There were grass stains on her clothes and leaves tangled in her hair. Her face was stained with dirt and tears. Yawning, she made her way across the field of yellowing grass, silently debating whether or not she was ready to go back to Luke's hut yet. In fact, she was so deep in thought that she was oblivious to the sound of horses' hooves thundering behind her, mistaking the heavy thud of metal hitting dirt for the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears. By the time her fatigued senses realised that someone was following her, it was too late to even consider hiding. Exhausted, tried and spiritless, she turned around to size her pursuer up. _Might as well make the job easier for them, _she thought as she planted her feet to the ground and shielded the sun from her eyes.

Behind her, but still a way off, there was a man riding on a horse. Rory could tell straight away that he was male from the arrogant way that he rode his horse. The horse itself looked magnificent; it was strong, fast, and pure white in colour. Rory knew for a fact that the only place anyone could get a horse as lovely as that was the palace. Chances were the man on the horse was from the palace as well. 

The man himself was cloaked in black and grey, and his face was hooded, obscuring his facial features. Rory immediately noted that whoever it was had both natural skill and much experience in the saddle. He was also not alone.

Behind the cloaked rider, a plump man dressed in red velvet was driving a roofed carriage pulled by two horses. The probability that these two men were working together was high, because all three horses were of the same breed. Rory felt a sense strange déjà vu as her gaze passed over the man in red velvet, like she had seen him somewhere before, but he was too far away for her to be sure. From that distance, he could be anyone.

The cloaked rider was only a mile or two out from her by now, and, seeing that she was making no attempt to run away, slowed the horse down to a steady trot. Rory waited patiently. She felt an insane, serene sort of calm wash over her. Nothing could rattle her now, not after all she'd been through - or so she believed. 

The horse stopped in front of her. She ran her hand lightly along the horse's nose in salutation, and it nuzzled her cheek affectionately. Jess had taught her everything she knew about horses, and she loved the creatures with all her heart. She whispered to it soothingly, stroking its long neck, and yet all the while she felt the eyes of the cloaked rider upon her, watching her. He was still seated upon his horse, and was looking down on her - something that made Rory feel especially uncomfortable. She knew now for sure that this rider was from the palace. 

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Rory kept her gaze lowered to the ground, but her voice was all confidence. She did not survive years of treacherous thieving to come to such an end as to be attacked by a single rider. 

The rider eased off his horse, landing soundlessly on the ground. Rory deduced that the rider must be at least her age, if not older, from of the size and width of his feet, and that he must be considerably rich, from of the quality of his shoes. 

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she repeated, her gaze now focused on his soft, leather shoes. His silence was more unnerving than if he were to speak. Jess had always said that a person who remained silent was either extremely dangerous or extremely clever, and had to be kept watch over even more vigilantly than the rest. The quiet ones were always the ones who caused the most havoc. 

"Why do you not look at me?" the rider said. His voice was smooth and deep, and still slightly breathless from riding. Rory's heart started to beat faster. She knew that voice. It was … but no, it couldn't be…could it? Rory heard the sound soft material being drawn back. The rider had unhooded himself. She forced herself to look up at him, to see if he was who she knew he would be. He was exactly who she thought he was. It was none other than the King himself - Tristan DuGrey. 

Rory could not bring herself to do anything more than to stare. What was she supposed to do? What was the king here for? And why was he looking at her in such an … odd way? _'Hurry up and say something!' _she thought frantically.

"Don't stare at me like that," she said at last, and immediately regretted it, for as soon as she spoke the King looked at her even harder. Rory suddenly became conscious of the brown smudges on her face and the grass bits in her hair, and her cheeks grew warm. She wanted to break free from his intense gaze, but found she could not. 

"I'm not the only one who's staring," the King countered back. Rory quickly turned her head, forcing herself to look away. She was frightened. She wanted to be back at Luke's hut. She wanted to be with her friends. She wanted to be with Jess. She definitely did not want to be standing defenceless in the middle of a field, doing absolutely nothing, while the King watched her like some sort of hawk. 

What in the world could he want from her? She didn't have any money, and hardly any possessions. _'Maybe he wants to put me under arrest!' _Rory panicked. She was loosing control. '_I've got to get out of here!' _was the one thought that rang clear through the panic-induced chaos in her mind. Her eyes flickered from the King's horse, to the carriage further off, to the large field about her. She felt the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind … 

Rory took a few slow steps backwards, giving herself ample space to move. The king opened his mouth, about to say something, but Rory didn't stick around in time to hear it. One minute she was standing right in front of him and the next second she was off, sprinting across the field, the wind blowing back her long, dark hair. 

"Wait!" Tristan yelled after her. "I command you to wait!" 

__

'As if any command of yours could stop me,' Rory thought as she ran. '_You don't have any control over me at all. Well, at least not yet…' _

Tristan cursed under his breath. Stepping once more into the horse's saddle, he eased into a slow trot for a few moments before breaking into a full out gallop, pushing the horse as hard as it would go. He knew there was no way she could outrun him while he was mounted. What was she playing at? 

Rory heard the King's horse pick up speed. She knew that it was almost impossible for her to outrun a mounted pursuer, but that didn't mean she wasn't allowed to try. The faster the horse's hooves hit the ground the more determined she became. Faster! Faster! Her bare feet were protesting, but her resolve was firm. She sensed the horse gaining on her. She could feel it's hot breath just above her shoulder. The heavy thud of metal on grass mirrored the beats of her heart, still she willed herself to press on. 

The horse was level with her now. She could see the king rounding it off, bringing her in. She stopped running for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Her face was hot with exertion. Her blood was hot with adrenalin. She could see every little feature on the King's face. He looked down on her with some sort of triumph in his eyes. He thought he had her. 

As he coaxed the horse towards her, slowing right down, he shot her a sort of pitying smile. "Don't wear yourself out, now," he said, all full of himself.

Rory took this opportunity to smooth her hair away her blue eyes. She levelled her gaze with his. "Impossible."

She paused for a moment, enjoying the King's confused expression, before taking off again, running back the way she had come. Heading straight towards her, though still a fair distance away, was the wooden carriage she had seen behind the King earlier. It was picking up speed. She too picked up speed.

The horse was coming up from behind her again. She slowed down a little, pretending to be tired. She sensed yet again the horse's hot breath. Now she was running along side it. Rory drew herself in a little closer to the horse. The king's leather riding shoe was right up against her cheek. She knew he was looking down on her again, but she concentrated hard on his shoe, and on the foot hold of the horse's saddle. In one smooth movement, she both pulled down on the metal foot hold and grabbed onto horse's reigns, pulling on them hard to slow the horse down. She then put her on left foot through the foot hold, wincing as the sharp metal cut into her bare foot. Then balancing all her weight and summoning up all her strength, she stood up on that one foot, and grabbed onto the king's shoulder with her other hand for balance.

"What do you think you're doing!" the King yelled, but Rory paid no attention. It wasn't important. What was important was getting away. She would deal with the consequences later. 

The horse had stopped completely, and was now loitering from side to side trying to balance the uneven weight on its back. 

"Sorry, _Your Majesty_," Rory said. Then she pushed him by the shoulders off the horse's back. He looked at her for a moment with panic in his eyes, and grabbed her hand in an attempt to hold himself on the horse. His weight, though, seemed to be much more than Rory's, and she could not keep her balance, getting pulled her off the horse with him. The next thing Rory knew she was lying on the cold grass, the king's body beneath her. She could feel his chest moving up and down as he breathed in and out. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. 

"Are you okay?" Tristan asked her as she detached herself from him. She got up silently, trying to maintain what dignity she had left. Her elbow was aching and her foot was stinging, but she said nothing. She proceeded to brush the grass of her hands and mount the horse. Tristan didn't move to stop her until he noticed the wound on her foot.

"You're bleeding," he said, sitting up with a pained expression on his face. "You can't ride with bare feet." 

"I'll be fine," Rory said in a steady voice. The cut had begun to throb, and her eyes were smarting. She pressed her heels lightly into the horse's side and took off, without a second glance at the king. 

* * * * *

Tristan stared after the brown haired thief. She must have been crazy, to try a trick like that. And yet he was deeply impressed. That was definitely the type of stuff he needed to defend himself against Marcus. 

Tristan heard the Duke's carriage rattle up behind him. The Duke gently murmured something to the horses, and they slowed down. The Duke's grandfather had been a horse whisperer, and had taught the Duke a few tricks when he had been a little boy. Tristan was convinced that the Duke was a horse whisperer too, but never said anything. People were scared of anything slightly mystical or out of the ordinary, and the Duke would lose his position as a noble if he were found out. 

Tristan shakily got to his feet. "What took you so long?" he asked, combing the grass out of his hair.

"I was enjoying the fine view," the Duke grinned, giving Tristan a hand and helping him up onto the carriage.

"Sure, sure," Tristan said. "You just liked seeing me fail miserably." 

"It's my favourite past time," the Duke admitted, picking a piece of grass of his red velvet suit. "You're malting on me," he noted. 

"Good." Tristan clapped his hands together and shook his head, spraying more grass on the annoyed Duke. "Now follow that horse!"

"I wouldn't have had to follow it if you hadn't fallen off it."

"I wouldn't have fallen off it if you had been around to help me." 

"It always as to be my fault, doesn't it," the Duke said bitterly. 

* * * * *

Rory slowed the horse down to a trot as she closed in on Luke's hut. Now that she was here all she wanted to do was to turn back, but she was too exhausted to ride any further, and her foot was throbbing. The cut didn't look infected, but it was deep and she needed to bandage it up. As much as she didn't want to, she was going to have to go inside, and face the gang – including Jess. 

Lowering herself to the ground gingerly, she limped over to the door of Luke's hut. It was slightly open, and Rory caught a glimpse of light and heard small snatches of conversation. With a shaking hand, she knocked on the door, and then pushed it aside.

"Rory!" Mitch had been speaking seriously to Richard and Luke, but he got up immediately and went to Rory as soon as she walked into the hut. "You're safe."

"We were so worried," Richard said, also getting up. "When you ran off, Mitch went out to search for you but he couldn't find you anywhere. We thought you'd done a runner and left us." 

"I would never leave you guys. You're all my friends. I just didn't think I could handle…" Rory looked away.

"Handle what?" Richard asked.

"Handle being in the same room with Jess." Rory said quietly, focusing on a brown smudge on the floor. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

Richard and Mitch said nothing, but simply moved aside to reveal a bandaged, dark-haired figure lying stiffly on Luke's table. Blood was dripping steadily to the ground, making patterns in the dust.

"The Patty healer tried," Richard said in a soft voice. "Really, she did, but it was too late. He's not gone yet but he soon will be, or so she says."

A figure moved in the dim light of Luke's bedroom, but no one paid any attention to it.

"I feel so guilty." Rory was saying. She swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. 

"Now Rory," Mitch placed a firm hand on her shoulder and cleared his throat. He was not used to consoling people and wasn't exactly sure of what to say. "It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" Rory's voice rose. "I was the one who challenged him, I was the one who dropped the sword. It was all my fault. There's no other way of looking at it."

"Oh yes there is," Mitch sighed, and looked at Rory apologetically. "I was the one who asked Jess to switch swords with you. It was my fault."

"You did what?"

"I didn't think it was very fair, you know," Mitch said. "That you had to duel with my heavy sword when you'd never had any practise at all. Jess' sword seemed more your size so I asked him to swap with you. I had no idea the sword was faulty. But still, if I hadn't had asked Jess to swap swords, he wouldn't have been injured." 

"But Mitch," Rory suddenly grabbed his rough hand and held it tight in hers. "If you hadn't told him to switch his sword, I might've been the one hurt! You saved me! It's not your fault … it's mine. I was stupid enough to drop the sword. Jess would never have done something like that." 

"You had no idea the sword was going to do that." Richard argued, closing the door behind her and then going to stand by Mitch. "You thought that the sword was perfectly normal. Normal swords don't just spring out of their hilts, you know. It definitely wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault. It was just the luck of the draw…"

"You're wrong," a hoarse voice cut in. It was Luke. "I knew that the sword was broken. It was my old sword. I fixed it up a long time ago, but the adjustments I made weren't permanent. I knew that one day that sword was going to break..."

"Oh Luke, it's not your fault," Rory said gently, but Luke shook his head. His cheeks were flushed and his voice was shaking.

"It is my fault. I should've have let anyone duel with that sword. It's my fault that Jess is where he is. It's my fault that Jess is dead." 

Silence fell like a thick blanket over the four, as Luke's last sentence sunk in. No one dared to move. No one dared to breathe. 

"I…I'm not dead yet," said a weak voice suddenly, breaking the grave silence. "Don't ge…get all your hopes up…" 

"Jess!" Rory shoved past the stunned Mitch and Richard, and half ran, half limped to the table Jess was lying on. "Jess! You're still alive!" 

"W-well of…of course I am…" Jess tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed. "You can't get rid of me that easily." 

"I'm so sorry," Rory told him, smoothing the hair away from his face. She noticed that his cheeks were icy cold, and she felt fear grip her stomach. "Oh Jess!" Rory broke down then and there. She couldn't help but let the tears fall. She turned to run away.

"Wait…" Jess said. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand to stop her from leaving, but the pain was too much. It was a searing coal in the pit of his stomach, hot and burning, tormenting his insides. There was no way he would be able to move, not even for her. It was all he could do to talk. 

"I want to go," Rory's eyes were rimmed with red. Her tears fell silently, painfully. "I can't do this."

"Please stay here with me…" Jess turned his head painfully to the side. It was torture to move. "Don't go…" He was cut of by a violent coughing fit.

"This is all my fault," Rory whispered, and slowly kneeled down next to the table, so that her face was next to his. 

"No, it's my fault," Mitch cut in. "I shouldn't have asked you to switch swords…"

"No, it's _my _fault," Luke said. "I should have stopped you when I had the chance. I should've told you before hand…"

"Luke, it's not your fault either," Jess said slowly. All this talking was making him tired. "If anyone's to blame it' s - " 

"It's definitely not _your_ fault, Jess!" Rory interrupted, standing up quickly and looking at Jess in disbelief. "_You_ of all people shouldn' t –"

"I didn't mean me!" Jess said in a loud, exasperated voice. Rory fell silent immediately. "Ow! That hurt. Anyway, I think that p-peasant filth vegetable boy is to bla…blame. If he hadn't pushed Rory, none of this would have hap…happened…" 

"It can't be Dean's fault," Rory said quickly, jumping to Dean's defence. "He didn't know what was going on! He thought I was in trou –" 

"Peasant filth?" An angry voice exclaimed, cutting Rory off. "Vegetable boy? Who do you think you are, you…you vermin!"

"Dean!" Rory spun around quickly, caught off guard. Dean was standing in the doorway of Luke's bedroom. "What are you doing here?" She asked, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

"Come in here, Rory," Dean beckoned, and Rory obliged, limping a little. The thick, musty curtains in Luke's bedroom were tightly closed, letting only a fraction of light seep through the material onto two still bodies – Jon and Charles. Rory involuntarily shuddered as she saw the two stumps of Charles legs, and faced Dean instead.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"I was worried about you…" Dean lowered his voice. "When the others couldn't find you … I thought I'd better stick around in case you showed up."

"Dean…"

"Just let me get this out. Rory, I'm sorry about the things I said back there. And I'm sorry about your friend. I didn't mean what I said about you. I just … wanted to apologise." 

__

'What's Rory doing in there?' Jess thought. He couldn't see what was going on very well from the position he was in, but he could hear the voices. '_I'm the one with the knife wound in my stomach and yet she's over there chatting to fruit-kid. Hmm…'_

"Ah, shit!" Jess yelled loudly. Rory was by his side in an instant.

"What is it?" she asked him, laying a delicate hand over his. 

"It's…it's nothing. I'm fine now." Jess grimaced, trying to look brave. "I'll be all right…"

"Are you sure?" she asked him with wide eyes.

"Yeah…" he said, smiling softly. He took satisfaction in seeing Dean's angry face out of the corner of his eye. '_Score one for me…'_he thought.

"Good," Rory gave him one last glance, and then went back over to Dean. "What were you saying?" he heard her say.

__

'Damn!'

"I wanted to … hey, what happened to your foot?" 

"Oh, it's nothing," Rory said absent mindedly.

Richard came over to where Rory was, and knelt down to inspect the wound on her foot. "It doesn't look like nothing," he said grimly. "You'll need it done up. Luke, do you have any bandages?" 

"No, we used them all on Jess," Luke walked into his room, which was getting a little crowded by then. Rory limped back into the main room, followed by Dean. "I've got some shirts though…"

"Are they clean?" Richard asked, kneeling down to check Rory's cut again. 

"Um…I think so," Luke answered dubiously, bringing several folded shirts back into the main room. He lay them beside Richard. "That's an oddly shaped cut," he commented. "What happened?" 

"I got it when I tried to mount a horse with bare feet," Rory said, wincing as Richard wrapped the soft fabric around her cut. "Ouch, that stings…"

"What horse?" Mitch sat down on the ground, leaning against a wall of Luke's hut. "When was this?"

"About awhile ago, when I was coming here," Rory answered. "A rider was chasing me on a white horse. I tried to slow the horse down and knock him off it, but the metal cut into my foot."

"Who was the rider?" Jess asked.

Rory took a breath. "It was the king." 

"What!" Richard exclaimed. Mitch jumped to his feet immediately, opened the door and went outside. Jess swore under his breath. "Did he follow you here?"

"I…I have no idea," Rory admitted. "I only thought about getting away."

"Any thoughts about why he was chasing you?" Luke asked. Rory, Mitch and Richard all stopped what they were doing and stared at Luke. "What? What did I say?"

"S-sure we…we tried t-to steal the crown jewels…but…but that's no reason why anyone would b…be after us," Jess managed to get out. 

"You what!" Luke shouted, and fixed Jess with an accusing stare. "You never told me that!"

If Jess could've shrugged he would have. "What d-did you expect?" 

Mitch came back it, observed the uncle and nephew that were bickering, and cleared his throat loudly. "They're coming."

"How many are there?" Richard made sure the bandage around Rory's foot was secure before straightening up.

"There's a carriage drawn by four horses, held by two men. One of the men is definitely the king, but the other I don't recognise. He is short, fat, and his wearing a suit of red velvet." Mitch paused for a moment. "He looks kind of familiar. The carriage is about a mile off. We can take them."

Richard unsheathed his sword and nodded. "Let's do it."

"Wait!" Rory said. A strange feeling had come over her, like she was forgetting something important. "Maybe we should hear the king out. Ask him what he wants. Maybe this can be solved without violence. I mean, we're already in enough trouble without adding 'assassins' to our list of occupations."

"Fine," Mitch grunted. "But if any one of them lay a hand of the hilt of their swords…"

"…they're goners," Rory concluded. 

The atmosphere in Luke's small hut was tense. Mitch was pacing back and forth in the enclosed space, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword. Richard was standing with his arms crossed, facing the door, his muscles bulging. His face was grim. Luke had started up a conversation with Dean, and they were both talking in quiet voices. Rory was at Jess' side, dabbing the sweat off his face with one of Luke's old shirts. 

Soon enough, there was a telltale knock on the door. Rory, Mitch and Richard were on their feet in an instant. "Open this door at once! King's orders," a muffled voice called out through the dissipated wood of the door. Mitch made as if to open the door, but Luke stopped him.

"I'll get it," he said. "It's my land, after all." 

Mitch stepped aside, and allowed Luke to open the door. Outside was the velvety fat man, with a cross expression on his face. "It's about time," he complained. Suddenly Rory remembered why he seemed so familiar. He was the Duke that talked to her the previous night! Rory wondered why she didn't recognise him sooner. '_He looks a lot more stressed' _she noticed. 

Behind the Duke stood the King. His face was cold and expressionless, still dressed in his black riding gear, with his hood drawn back. Rory noticed with some satisfaction a grass smear on his left knee. That grass smear calmed her down slightly. So he wasn't perfect after all. 

"What do you want?" Luke asked, seemingly undaunted by the king's presence. "It is a strange hour to be calling in, don't you think?"

"We want to talk to the thieves," the Duke said. "Now." 

"Thieves?" Luke shrugged casually. Rory recognised that shrug as the shrug Jess did when he was caught and asked to explain himself. She smiled. 

"Yes, thieves," the Duke said firmly, trying to peek behind Luke's tall frame to what was inside the hut.

"Aha, thieves." Luke nodded. "What _kind_ of thieves, exactly?"

"We both know what my friend here is talking about," the King spoke up. His voice rang out clear and confident. "So please, cooperate." 

"Certainly." Rory couldn't tell if Luke was being sarcastic or not.

"We want to see the leader of the thieves," the King continued. "We have a proposition we would like to put forth."

Rory felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Proposition? Where had she heard that before? "That isn't possible," Luke was saying. "The leader of the thieves is injured. He isn't well enough to see anyone." 

"Well, how about a _representative? _Would that be okay?" The King had a bite of impatience in his voice.

"I'll have to ask," Luke said, and closed the door gently. 

"I'll go," Rory said as soon as Luke turned around. "It's my fault that they found us, so I'll just go straighten things out."

"No, it's too dangerous Rory," Mitch said. Richard nodded. "Let one of us go. We can defend ourselves better than you."

"Says who?" Rory put her hands on her hips and gave Richard and Mitch a hard stare. "Just because I'm a girl? I know how to defend myself just as well as you do. Or are you implying that you two are tougher than me?"

"Uh…" Richard hid a smile behind his hand, and Mitch turned his chuckle into a cough. "Of course not."

"So I can go?"

Richard and Mitch looked at Rory seriously. "Okay, but you have to be careful." 

"Don't worry. I will be." 

****

Author's Note: How did that go? Not to bad, I hope. Next chapter coming really soon! I'm on holidays at the moment, so I'm going to try and get out as many chapters as I can before the iron hand of education recommences. =S.


	14. The Right Choice

**Authors Note: **Okay, I've kept everyone waiting for about eleven months or so - why make it any longer? Let's just skip the author's note this time around and get straight into the chapter!

Buttered Angie

_

* * *

_

_"You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged._

_Oh I realise it's had to take courage._

_In a world full of people you can lose sight of it all,_

_And the darkness inside you can make you feel so small."_

**True Colours** by Phil Collins

**

* * *

**

****

**A Thousand Miles **  
_The Right Choice_

Time dragged on at a frustratingly slow pace in Luke's small hut. Mitch was eased out on the ground, his back against the dirt-smudged wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. Slowly, almost lazily, he wiped the battle residue off his large, double-handed sword. Beside him sat Dean, who watched him with interest.

Richard, unable to sit still, had taken up the art of pacing. He now walked back and forth with quick steps as far as the dimensions of Luke's small hut would allow him to.

"What could be taking so long?" he kept muttering under his breath. "She's been out there for ages."

Luke hovered silently over his nephew, incredible waves of guilt coursing through him. A thousand regrets ran through his mind…

_I should have brought him up better. My sister would have never wanted him to turn out like this. She trusted me with her only son. Before she passed away she made me promise that I'd take care of him. But I failed. I gave up on him. I let him go._

_I let him go…_

"That sure is a big sword," Dean commented to Mitch, in what he hoped was a friendly voice. The silent void was too much for him. He had to do something to break the intensity, to disturb the quiet – even if it meant resorting to making small-talk with a thief.

"It's a beauty, certainly." Mitch said. He didn't really feel comfortable talking to the kid that had caused so much trouble. If the topic of conversation had been about anything else other then that of weapons of fatalistic consequence, Mitch would have simply nodded and remained silent. But as it was, the topic of conversation was on his most prized possession as a thief – his sword. "I had to get it specially made. Cost me a pocketful, it did."

"You _paid _for it?" Dean said disbelievingly.

"'Course I did."

"But… you're a thief."

Mitch looked at Dean blankly. "So?"

"So why did you pay for it? You could've just stolen it."

Mitch let out a disapproving grunt. Now he understood what the kid was on about. "I had to pay."

"Why?"

"There are limits, you know!"

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What! Limits to being a thief?"

"No, you idiot!" Richard paused in his pacing long enough to grab the collar of Dean's worn vest, lifting him up into a would-be standing position. The muscles in his arms bulged under the strain of Dean's weight. "Limits to keep our self-respect! We're not completely inhumane, you know."

Dean opened his mouth angrily, but before he could reply, Mitch put a strong hand on Richard's elbow, forcing his arms down until Dean was free of his grip.

"Calm down, will you?" he said quietly. "I know you're worried; we all are. But you have to control it. For all our sakes."

Richard gave Dean a look of pure loathing. "Bloody peasants."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he let out a horrible curse. Richard went white, but before he could respond, Mitch lifted his previously idle sword and held it against Dean's neck. It wasn't really a lethal position, since only the flat side of the sword was against Dean's skin, but peasants didn't know much about swords. For all Dean knew, he was in a position of mortal danger.

"Get that thing away from me." Dean's voice was panicky.

"You behave yourself, kid. It's been a very long couple of days, and my patience has just about run out."

"Luke!" Dean said desperately. "Tell them to leave me alone!"

Luke looked up momentarily from his dismal thoughts, but there was no sympathy in his eyes. He remained silent.

"No one's going to be able to help you if you don't _behave_!" Mitch growled.

"Okay!" The sweat glistened on Dean's forehead. "Okay, I get it. Just let me go."

After a few tense moments, Mitch backed off. There was silence. Dean looked around the room, taking in the faces of the three men that were staring back at him motionlessly. His gaze rested on Luke. The sting of betrayal struck him deep.

"Why didn't you do anything?" he asked, in hurt voice. "I was about to be killed, and you just stood there."

Luke shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but Mitch is right, you know. You really should behave yourself in a room full of thieves."

"That's why us honest people have to stick together. We have to stand up for each other," Dean said almost accusingly.

"Well I hate to break it to you kid, but I'm not exactly honest… " Luke trailed off, leaving Dean to come to his own conclusions.

"Shit, not you too?" Dean's eyes were wide. "Shit! You're a thief!"

"_Former_ thief," Luke corrected.

"Aren't there any _honest _people left in the world?" Dean cried out in exasperation. He wasn't really expecting an answer.

At that exact moment, the ancient door of Luke's dilapidated hut creaked open to reveal the King, the Duke and Rory. Dean's eyes opened even wider as he found himself under His Majesty's scrutiny.

Rory couldn't help but smile at the mortified expression on Dean's face. She knew all too well how peasants felt about royalty. She knew all too well how peasants felt about people in general, actually. She gave Dean a sort of pitying glance.

"…I wouldn't count on it."

- - -

It was certainly a very strange gathering. Crowded inside Luke's small, untidy hut was the most improbable group of people imaginable. Looking around, Luke reflected that they all looked rather comical, and he would have laughed, if not for the seriousness of the situation.

He was standing at the head of his table, intently watching what lay upon it. Only it wasn't a plate of potatoes and carrots or anything remotely normal: it was his teenage nephew, who also happened to be the current leader of the thieving world. Jess' eyes were closed, and one would assume that he was merely asleep, if not for the bloody wound in his stomach.

Also standing around the table, soundless and perfectly still, was Jess' loyal band of thieves. Well, the ones who were still left standing, anyway. Richard, Mitch and Rory looked at their leader solemnly, Rory clasping his shaking hand in her own. Their faces were grave. They had put their weapons to rest around the hut - the long swords, broadswords, single handed swords, double-handed swords, maces, knives, spikes, and lock-picking devices scattered randomly across the floor added to the strangeness of the scene. The shadowy forms of Jon and Charles haunted the walls of the hut, their silhouettes unmoving and unmovable.

And then there was Dean. Looking at the kid, Luke almost felt sorry for him. He was a simple boy, brought up well by his parents. He was a good worker and was obedient for the most part. But when it all came down to it, the bottom line was he was a peasant. There was no other way to put it.

There was nothing wrong with peasants, really. They were quite reasonable people, always ready to do their bit. But their one failing lay in the fact that they only had enough sympathy for their own misfortunes, and hardly ever bothered to understand the misfortunes of the rest of the world. It wasn't really their fault – they were quite hard done by – but it did make them extremely difficult to be around.

So there was Dean, as indignant as a peasant should be when surrounded by the two types of people he was raised to detest the most – thieves and nobles. Luke had found it hard to keep a straight face when he caught the expression on Dean's face as the King had entered the room. He couldn't even begin to imagine what was running through the poor boy's mind.

Luke's gazed shifted to the King and his Duke – the two strangest members of that strange gathering. The King was surveying the small space around him with surprised eyes – Luke guessed that he'd probably never been a farmer's hut before. The Duke looked all around him nervously; trying to step on the parts of the floor that had minimal smudges of dirt, most likely.

Luke finally held his gaze on Jess' solitary form, and he felt his heart sink. In the absurdness of the situation, he had almost forgotten, but now it all came back to him, the burden of guilt even heavier than before.

- - -

Richard couldn't take it any more. He couldn't take the silence, the idleness, the _pointlessness _of the whole situation. He wasn't just going to stand aside and watch his friend die. He had to do something. There had to be some way to save Jess.

Concern for his friend drove out all his other worries: he shoved restless thoughts of the King, the Duke and that peasant filth into the back of his mind. That was all secondary now. It didn't take a genius to realise that Jess was getting worse. He was so pale, and was losing a lot of blood. They had to do something soon, or else it would be too late. And he couldn't for the life of him understand why everyone was standing around so motionlessly, doing nothing. He pulled Rory and Mitch aside.

"Why are we just standing around?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. "There must be something we can do, some way to help Jess."

"Yeah? Like what?" Mitch's voice was dull.

"I don't know. I don't know what we can do. But I also don't know how long I can keep this up. Do you even care? I mean, how can you two just stand there and watch Jess die? Tell me that."

Rory grabbed hold of Richard's hand, her eyes full of tears. "I don't like it any more than you do, you have to believe me."

"Then why aren't we doing anything?" he demanded. "Doesn't it matter any more?"

"Of course it does!" Mitch roared, his eyes flashing. "Jess means as much to us as he does to you. Now I don't know about you two but I've been wringing my brain inside out trying to think of a way out of this mess. And you know what I've come up with? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But at least I'm trying. You should be too."

By now every conscious member in Luke's crowded hut was eying the three thieves. Richard briefly took in the blank faces staring at him, then turned back to Rory and Mitch, a note a defeat in his voice.

"I am trying. I just… It's so hard. I feel like, I don't know, like this is the end for us."

"Hey," Rory gave him a small smile. "Don't give up."

"We've been through worse than this," Mitch reminded him.

"I know." Richard sighed. "But still, I can't help thinking that this might be it. This might be the end of us. No, listen. We've gotten so far, and outlasted everyone in the game. Now it's time to give back what we owe. We should be grateful, I guess. We've had a good running. It wasn't the right thing to do, but it was good while it lasted. It had to end somehow. It's just that I never thought it'd be like this."

There was a long silence. The same sort of thing had been weighing on all their minds, but no one had dared voice it until now. Mitch cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Now there's no need for that sort of talk," he said, laying a firm hand on Richard's shoulder. "We'll figure something out."

"But there's nothing left to try."

"_Ahem!_" The King cleared his throat loudly and gave Rory a meaningful glance from across the room. Rory felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

"Well, actually, there might be something else," she said slowly. "I didn't mention it before because I didn't see any point in it. I know you two aren't going to agree. _I _don't even like it – "

"Rory," Mitch interrupted. "If there's a way to save Jess, I don't care what it involves. Just try us."

"Yeah," Richard put in. "At least let us decide for ourselves."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." She paused momentarily, trying to think of the best way to phrase the bizarre proposition she was going to relay to her two friends.

"Well?" Richard wasn't the most patient person in the world.

"Well," Rory frowned at Richard. "It's like this. When I went outside to talk to the King, His Majestyhad a proposition to make."

Mitch struck a sideways glance at the King, a look of distrust on his face. "What kind of proposition?"

"A business proposition."

"Huh?"

Rory edged closer to the two, and lowered her voice. "Apparently the King believes that he's under attack, and that his position is in mortal danger."

"Under attack?" Richard gave Rory an incredulous look. "By who?"

"You two remember Marcus, don't you?"

"Oh, him."

"Yes, him. The King believes that Marcus is plotting with the Queen Mother to take him down. He can't trust his own personal guard, because it looks like Marcus has bought them over. He wants to have some sort of protection from outside the castle, someone that Marcus won't be able to influence…"

"…And that's where we come in, right?" Richard looked grim.

"You got it."

Mitch frowned. "So where exactly does Jess fit into all this?"

"The King says he's willing to help us out of our… um… _situation _if we agree to work for him. He has access to the best healers we could ever hope to find, not to mention the most extensive apothecary in existence." Rory chewed on her bottom lip. "He promised to do everything he could to save Jess, Jon and Charles."

"I'm sure he did."

Rory looked at Richard, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"How do you know he's not lying? It could be a trap!"

"It could be the only way to save Jess' life!"

"Or it could be a way to kill us all," Richard said seriously. "Look Rory, I know you're worried about Jess, we all are. But we can't let that worry lower our defences. I mean, think about it. A King asking thieves to protect him! It's insane, it's impossible, it's never going to work. We're _thieves_, and he's royalty. Those two worlds can't collide."

"Why not?" Rory said. "Don't you see? If we take up this offer we won't have to live as thieves any more. The King is willing to pay us money, a lot of money, if we come and work for him. Then we wouldn't have to be thieves for a living. We wouldn't have to lie, or kill, or fight any longer. Just think of it! It'd be so good…"

"To you," Mitch grunted.

"What?"

"Rory, listen." Mitch looked her straight in the eye. "We all know you hate being a thief, that if you had another choice, you'd do anything to get out of it. But for me it's the opposite. I'd do anything just to stay a thief."

"But…"

"Look at it this way. If the King is telling the truth…"

"Which I doubt he is," Richard cut in, ignoring the irritated look the Duke was giving him from across the room.

"But just say he is." Mitch continued. "How do you think Jess will feel, waking up in the palace of all places? And what about Jon? You know how much he hates nobles. After what they did to his family, I don't blame him. How do you think he'd react?"

Rory looked down at her dirt-smudged feet. "Look at what they did to my mother," she said quietly. "I still managed to get over it."

"But that's you, Rory," he replied gently. "We're not as good as you."

"You can't understand the class divisions that exist between us all," Richard added. "You were born a noble, raised as a peasant and trained to be a thief. Inside you, those three worlds are colliding all the time, but outside, they never meet."

An expression of concern briefly passed across Mitch's face. "Rory, if we went back to the palace, we'd be in grave danger. Not only will Marcus know who we are, so will the King's guard. The King wants us to protect him, but who's going to protect us?"

"I know." Rory sighed. She turned away from her two friends and walked slowly over to where Jess was lying, gently taking his hand. "I know the whole thing is dangerous. But it's the only way to save Jess. You asked me before if I even cared that he's dying." She spun back around and faced Mitch and Richard once more. "Now I have to ask you the same thing. This is the solution you've been waiting for. It's what you've asked for. Mitch, you said you'd do anything to save Jess. Richard, you couldn't understand why we were standing here, doing nothing. But now look. Here's a solution, and you don't have the guts to follow through!"

"That's if he's not lying!" Richard exclaimed.

"Why are you so sure that he is?" Rory yelled.

"Why are you so sure that isn't?" Richard yelled back.

"I don't know, it's just a feeling," Rory replied.

"Oh well that's great." Richard's voice was dripping with sarcasm. He couldn't take much more of this. Rory was supposed to be on their side! "Do you want to know what I really don't understand? Why were you so reluctant to believe Jess but so eager to believe the King? Answer me that!"

"I don't know! Jess was lying to me, I found that out – "

"What, from peasant-boy here?"

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, but was further silenced by a stern look from Mitch.

"It doesn't matter how I found out – "

"You're right, it doesn't." Richard said shortly. "The point is that you, Rory, found out then challenged Jess. Now he's lying here on the brink of death. I know it wasn't your fault, how were you supposed to know that the sword was faulty? But when it all comes down to it, you got what you wanted. You challenged Jess and won. You're our leader now. Make the choice. But make the choice based on all of us, not just on yourself."

Rory turned away, stung by Richard's words. Of course, she had been telling herself the very same thing over and over again, but to hear it from a friend whose opinion she valued as much as she did Richard's was a very different thing.

"You've gone too far," Mitch murmured to Richard.

"You can't ask me to make this choice." Rory's voice was shaking and her eyes were full of tears. She refused to meet Richard's glance, instead turning to Mitch. "I can't make this choice. Mitch, can't you help me?"

"I'm sorry, Rory, I can't decide for you." Mitch said as gently as he could. "Although I don't like what he said, Richard is right. We are obligated to follow whatever decision you make, be it good or bad."

The King cleared his throat. It was now or never. "So, what will it be?" he asked, coming to stand beside the three solemn thieves.

Rory turned her head slowly towards the King. Her blue eyes were full of tears and there were red blotches on her cheeks, yet she still took his breath away. "Well?" was all he could say.

Rory opened her mouth to speak. Richard and Mitch both eyed her every move, trying to guess what her decision would be.

"We can't accept," she said finally, shaking her head slightly. "It's just too risky. I'm sorry."

- - -

"Excuse me?"

Tristan's head was reeling. Had the thieves actually declined his offer? Had they actually dared to say no to the King? What right did they have to shun his generosity and thoughtfulness in such an ungrateful manner? Yet what else could you expect from a band of thieves?

"We can't accept your offer," she repeated. "It's too - "

But Tristan cut her off before she could continue. "How _dare _you!"

"How dare I what?"

"How _dare _you refuse my offer!" Tristan felt his cheeks burning. "Do you forget who I am? I am _King_!"

"Your… Your Majesty?" The Duke nervously tapped the King on his shoulder. Beads of sweat were trickling down the side of his face. Obviously, standing in a dilapidated hut with a band of thieves and a peasant was almost too much to put up with.

"Not now!" Tristan glared at his friend.

"But… but I think it would be wise… er… perhaps if we, you know, if we… came back… later?" the Duke stammered.

"Later will be too late," the King replied darkly. "And what's the matter with you anyway? _You _were the one who told me to come here!"

Rory, Mitch and Richard whipped around to look at the Duke. "You what?"

Being the centre of attention obviously wasn't one of the Duke's innermost yearnings. His face slowly drained of all colour, and his beady eyes were cast downwards. The only sound that emerged from his thin lips was that of incoherent mumbling.

Rory forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. She waved her hands in front of her two friend's faces; Mitch and Richard appeared to be transfixed by the Duke's little episode. "You guys! Mitch! Richard!"

"It doesn't matter who told me to come here anyway," the King said, edging his way around the table to come and stand next to Rory and her two friends. Mitch and Richard appeared to have snapped out of their reverie and were now eying the King with equal looks of distrust etched on their two faces.

"Doesn't it?" Rory countered.

"No, it doesn't. All that matters is that I asked you for your services and you said no. You refused to protect your King and your country. I could put that down as treason!" Tristan brought his fist down onto the tabletop for extra measure. It made a heavy thud and the table shook dangerously. "What kind of person puts their own needs before the needs of their King?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation and the intense atmosphere building in Luke's small hut, Rory, Mitch and Richard glanced at each other, all trying to suppress their smiles.

"Thieves, maybe?" Mitch supplied, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Gee, I knew the nobles were thick, but I didn't think they were _that _thick," Richard whispered to Rory out of the corner of his mouth.

"I heard that!" Tristan's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Oh, congratulations!" Richard grinned broadly. "You've got ears, You're Majesty!" He deliberately pronounced each word loudly and with extreme clarity.

"That's it, I've had enough." Tristan strode over the door of Luke's hut in a tirade of fury. The Duke followed him meekly. "I'm not going to waste another moment of my time standing in this disgusting hut listening to all your insults. You had your chance to get out of this mess, but it's too late now. I expect the palace guards will be here by sundown to arrest the thieves. Well, the ones who are still alive anyway."

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, before exiting Luke's hut, slamming the door behind him.

- - -

The King's final words reverberated inside the hut long after he had left.

_I expect the palace guards will be here by sundown to arrest the thieves. Well, the ones who are still alive anyway…_

Rory's thoughts were all over the place, a chaotic jumble of fragments of memories, feelings, regrets… She closed her eyes. She couldn't make sense of anything inside of her. There was only one question that she could comprehend, one question that resounded over and over within her – within the very depths of her soul. Rory knew that she couldn't bear it alone. She had to ask someone.

She let go of Jess' hand for a moment, and walked over to where Mitch and Richard were sitting in silence.

"Rory, what is it?" Mitch's voice sounded strange.

"Answer me honestly, okay?" she said. Somehow it was so hard to get the words out.

"Sure," Mitch said, while Richard nodded obligingly.

Rory took a deep breath. "Did I make the right choice?"

Richard was quick to deliver. "Of course you did. You made the best choice that you could've under the circumstances. Anyone else would've done exactly the same thing. It was a hard decision, but you made the best choice that you could."

"But was it _right_?"

"I don't think there is a right or a wrong choice," Mitch said slowly. "There wasn't any clear cut lines between the two. It wasn't black or white… it was grey. You had to weigh up both the good and the bad. It was just too dangerous for all of us. You did what you had do."

"If our positions were reversed, Jess would've taken the offer to save my life," Rory wiped away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. Her voice was shaking and she could hardly control it. "He would take the risk for me."

"Listen to me, Rory," Richard took both of her hands in his. "Jess knows you, he knows that you have so much more to live for. You have Jackson and Sookie to take care of. Jess has nothing to live for, other than this band of thieves."

"Think of what Jess would want you to do in this situation," Mitch added. "Imagine his voice inside your head. What would he be telling you to do?"

Rory smiled. "He'd tell be to stop being emotional and to get on with the job."

"That's right."

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," Rory said. "I didn't mean to say all those horrible things to you. I was just so confused before, I didn't know what to do."

"Hey, it's okay," Richard grinned. "I know you only took the King's side because you thought he was handsome…"

"What! I did not!" Rory protested, feeling her cheeks go red.

"Admit it!" Richard teased her. "Come on, admit it! You two talked outside for a _very _long time, you know."

"Look, she's blushing!" Mitch pointed out, and Rory glared at him.

"Admit it!"

"Okay, okay!" Rory put her hands up in the air. "Okay, I admit I thought he was a bit of a spunk – "

"A _what?_"

"A spunk!"

Mitch and Richard were looking at her oddly. "What's a spink?"

"A spunk!" Rory looked from one to the other, a strange feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. "You know what a spunk is, don't you?"

"I've honestly never heard that word in my life," Richard said. "Why? Rory, what's going on? Are you okay?"

Rory closed her eyes, and put her head in her hands. Where had she heard that word before? Where?

_… Rose buds. Pink rose buds. Falling…_

"It was raining pink rose buds," Rory said softly. "They were everywhere."

"What?"

Mitch and Richard looked up in surprise as Luke came swiftly over to where Rory was sitting.

"Pink rosebuds and… and perfume!"

"It can't be," Luke shook his head. "It can't be!"

"What is it?" Mitch said.

"It's Lorelai," Luke replied solemnly.

_- - -_

_"That all depends on you," Lorelai said seriously, lowering her voice._

_Rory felt a cold chill run down her spine. _

_"You are going to be made an odd offer – sometime soon - by a certain individual whose name I'm not allowed to tell you. All I can tell you is that he's a spunk. And it's up to you to decide whether or not you're going to accept or decline this offer. But choose carefully, because your choice is going to shape the state of the future world."_

_Lorelai paused for effect, then added dramatically, "And whether or not Jess is going to die."_

- - -

"I remember now!" Rory exclaimed, jumping up and almost knocking Luke over.

"Remember what?!" Richard cried, perturbed.

"My mother! She came to me in a dream, she told me this was going to happen… she send that I was going to be made an offer… and that I would have to follow my guy instinct, or my gut instinct, or I don't know all I know is that Jess' life hangs in the balance and… _Oh!_"

Rory's eyes opened wide, and she froze for a moment. She was met with the stares of Mitch, Richard, Luke and Dean.

"What!?"

"I made the wrong choice!" she cried. "I made the wrong choice! Oh no, I have to go after him, Luke do you have any horses?"

Luke barely had time to move before Rory thrust her hand out. "No! No time, not enough time for horses, I'll run! I have to get to him, I have to make him reconsider! You have to understand, Richard, Mitch, say you understand!"

Richard and Mitch nodded dumbly.

"Yes? Good! I'll be right back, I have to catch up with him…"

Rory ran out of Luke's hut without so much as a glance backwards. The four left behind in the hut could only watch, dumbstruck.

"So, does anyone know what a spunk is?" Richard asked hopefully. His question was greeted with silence. "Didn't think so."

- - -

"I can't believe it!" Tristan exclaimed, as the Duke urged the horses forward. "Can you believe it? I can't believe it!"

"We had to try, Your Majesty," the Duke said, with his eyes lowered. He did not want to remind the King that it was _his _idea they came in the first place.

"True…" Tristan spanned his gaze across Luke's grassy fields, an almost dream-like expression on his face. "I wonder what'll become of me now."

The Duke glanced at the King. "It doesn't pay to think that way, Your Majesty. Always keep to the positive."

"It's kind of hard when your own uncle is trying to - " Tristan stopped mid-sentence, staring at something on the horizon. The Duke squinted, trying to follow the King's gaze.

"Your Majesty?"

"Do you see that, Duke?" Tristan shielded his eyes from the glaring sun, in order to get a better look at the far off figure. "Over there, near the trees… it's _her_!"

"Well so it is!" The Duke exclaimed. "What do you propose we do?"

"I don't know," The King frowned. "I wonder what she's doing out here. We only just left! Did she get this far on foot? Unbelievable!"

"Perhaps we should follow her…"

"Yes, I think we'd better. Come on, let's go!"

- - -

Rory slowed down. She had run the circumference of Luke's land but had found no trace of the King or the Duke, until now.

She could sense them coming. Her instincts were working overtime. She could feel the soil underneath her feet vibrating with the beat of horse hooves. She knew they were getting closer. She closed her eyes and came to a complete standstill. This was it. They were heading in her direction. The thundering of horse hooves became more intense. She could almost hear the King's voice on the wind. She spun around. They were in sight now. She waited patiently for their arrival.

The King jumped off the carriage before it had stopped completely. He jogged the few steps towards her. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I… I changed my mind," Rory said breathlessly. "I want to take up your offer. Please…"

The King's heart began to race. This was what he'd been waiting to hear. All the insult he had suffered was pushed to the back of his mind. This was exactly what he had wished for. _But I mustn't seem to eager, _he told himself sternly. _It's a sign of vulnerability. _

"Oh!" The King feigned coldness. "Well I don't know if I want to employ the likes of _you _any more. You have no respect for me whatsoever."

Rory's blue eyes flashed with anger. "Since when did respect come into this? You need something from us, we need something from you. I'm sorry that my friends and I offended you, but we've had a rough few days." Rory advanced on the King and quick as lightning shoved him onto the ground. The King barely had time to respond before she was kneeling on top of him, with her hand wrapped around the collar of his shirt. "Do you know _how _far I've run to catch up with you? Do you think I've come all this way just to receive a cold brushing off?"

"Your Majesty!" The Duke jumped down from the carriage and ran frantically to the King's side. "Your Majesty, are you okay?"

The King however paid no attention to the Duke. His eyes were focused on the thief. With great effort, he spoke.

"Get… get off!"

"Not until you promise you'll go through with the proposition."

"Well… okay!"

Rory relented, and released her hold on the King.

"Sorry," she said, helping him to her feet. "I had to do it."

The King said nothing, but got back into the carriage. The Duke and Rory followed suit.

"Where to, Your Majesty?" The Duke timidly picked up the reigns.

The King looked at Rory. "Luke's hut," he said. "Quickly!"

- - -

The next few hours passed like a blur. Jess, Charles and Jon were loaded into the inner compartment of the carriage, carried carefully by Richard, Mitch and surprisingly, the King. Richard and the King were still in there now. Rory herself had been too exhausted to help. She now sat on the roof of the carriage with Mitch was next to her. The Duke in front of them, at the reigns, though Rory noticed that he hardly needed them, preferring to direct the horses with spoken word.

The sun by now had set, leaving the sky a dark, deep, alluring blue. The silver moonshine lit up their path of travel in an almost mystical way. Rory rested her head on Mitch's shoulder. As they foreboding silhouette of the palace loomed up against the dark sky, blotting out the sky, Rory couldn't help but wonder what did the forces of fate had in mind for her, leading her to a place like this…

Only time could tell.


End file.
